Of  PR|^ro3Jr 


BX7795.S64  A3  1903 
Smith,  Hannah  WTiitaU,  1832-1911. 
My  spiritual  autobiography  :  or,  How  I 
discovered  the  unselHshness  of  God 


Digitized  by 

the  Internet  Archive 

in  2015 

https://archive.org/details/myspiritualautobOOsmit 


THE  UNSELFISHNESS  OF  GOD 


W,     O    R    K    S  BY 

Hannah  Whitall  Smith 

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JAN  K) 

My  Spiritual  Autobiograf)hy-____ 

or 

How  I  Discovered  the  Unselfishness  of  God 


By 
H.  W.  S. 

Author  of  "  The  Christian's  Secret  of  a  Happy 
Life"  "  Living  in  the  Sunshine,"  etc. 


New  York        Chicago  Toronto 
Fleming  H.  Revell  Company 
London     and  Edinburgh 


Copyright,  190?,  by 
FLEMING  H.  REVELL  COMPANY 


New    York:    158   Fifth  Avenue 

Chicago:  63  Washington  Street 
Toronto-  27  Richmond  Street,  W 
London:  21  Paternoster  Square 
Edinburgh:   }o  St.    Mary  Street 


Contents 


I 

Introduction   9 

II 

My  Parents  20 

III 

My  Quaker  Childhood  37 

IV 

Quakerism  46 

V 

Quaker  "Truth"  and  Quaker  "Ministry"  55 
VI 

Quaker  "  Opportunities  "  63 

VII 

Quaker  Guidance  79 

VIII 

Quaker  "  Queries  "  86 

IX 

The  "  Sugar-Scoop  "  Bonnet  100 

5 


6  Contents 
X 

The  " Hat  Testimony "  iii 

XI 

"  Plainness  of  Speech  "  121 

XII 

Friends's  "Testimonies"  against  Fiction, 

Music  and  Art  128 

XIII 

Quaker  Scruples  136 

XIV 

The  First  Epoch  in  My  Religious  Life  (The 

Awakening)  145 

XV 

My  Search  150 

XVI 

Eclipse  of  Faith  159 

XVII 

A  Renewed  Search  169 

XVIII 

Second  Epoch  in  My  Religious  Life  (Restor- 
ation of  Belief)  172 


Contents  7 
XIX 

The  Assurance  of  Faith  183 

XX 

The  Romance  of  the  Religious  Life  .   .   .  190 
XXI 

Questionings  195 

XXII 

The  Third  Epoch  in  My  Religious  Life  (The 

Restitution  of  All  Things)    .    .    ,  199 

XXIII 

The  Unselfishness  of  God  210 

XXIV 

Effect  of  My  Views  on  My  Public  Work  .  220 
XXV 

The  Fourth  Epoch  in  My  Religious  Life 

(The  Life  of  Faith)  228 

XXVI 

The  Way  of  Escape  238 

XXVII 

A  Discovery,  not  an  Attainment  ....  254 


8 


Contents 


XXVIII 

The  Secret  of  a  Happy  Life  a6i 

XXIX 

The  Life  of  Faith,  Quaker  Doctrine    .   .  275 
XXX 

Holiness  Camp  Meetings  283 

XXXI 

The  Lovely  Will  of  God  298 

XXXII 

Old  Age  and  Death  305 


I 


INTRODUCTION 

ON  the  fly  leaf  of  my  Bible  I  find  the  fol- 
lowing words,  taken  from  1  know  not 
where:  "This  generation  has  rediscov- 
ered the  unselfishness  of  God." 

If  I  were  called  upon  to  state  in  one  sentence 
the  sum  and  substance  of  my  religious  experience, 
it  is  this  sentence  1  would  choose.  And  no  words 
could  express  my  thankfulness  for  having  been 
born  into  a  generation  where  this  discovery  has 
been  comparatively  easy. 

If  I  am  not  mistaken,  the  generation  before 
mine  knew  very  little  of  the  unselfishness  of  God; 
and,  even  of  my  own  generation,  there  are  I  fear 
many  good  and  earnest  Christians  who  do  not 
know  it  yet.  Without  putting  it  into  such  words 
as  to  shock  themselves  or  others,  many  Christians 
still  at  bottom  look  upon  God  as  one  of  the  most 
selfish,  self-absorbed  Beings  in  the  universe,  far 
more  selfish  than  they  could  think  it  right  to  be 
themselves, — intent  only  upon  His  own  honour 
and  glory,  looking  out  continually  that  His  own 
rights  are  never  trampled  on;  and  so  absorbed  in 
thoughts  of  Himself  and  of  His  own  righteous- 
ness, as  to  have  no  love  or  pity  to  spare  for  the 
poor  sinners  who  have  offended  Him. 

9 


lO 


Introduction 


I  grew  up  believing  God  was  like  this.  1  have 
discovered  that  He  is  exactly  the  opposite.  And 
it  is  of  this  discovery  I  want  to  tell. 

After  more  than  seventy  years  of  life  I  have 
come  to  the  profound  conviction  that  every  need 
of  the  soul  is  to  be  met  by  the  discovery  I  have 
made.  In  that  wonderful  prayer  of  our  Lord's 
in  John  17,  He  says,  "And  this  is  life  eternal, 
that  they  might  know  Thee  the  only  true  God, 
and  Jesus  Christ  whom  Thou  has  sent."  This 
used  to  seem  to  me  a  mystical  saying,  that  might 
perhaps  have  a  pious  esoteric  meaning,  but  cer- 
tainly could  have  no  practical  application.  But 
every  year  of  my  religious  life  1  have  discovered 
in  it  a  deeper  and  more  vital  meaning;  until  now 
at  last  I  see,  that,  rightly  understood,  it  contains 
the  gist  of  the  whole  matter.  To  know  God,  as 
He  really  is,  in  His  essential  nature  and  character,  j 
is  to  have  reached  the  absolute,  and  unchange-  ' 
able,  and  utterly  satisfying  foundation,  upon 
which,  and  upon  which  only,  can  be  reared  the 
whole  superstructure  of  our  religious  life. 

To  discover  that  He  is  not  the  selfish  Being  we 
are  so  often  apt  to  think  Him,  but  is  instead  really 
and  fundamentally  unselfish,  caring  not  at  all  for 
Himself,  but  only  and  always  for  us  and  for  our 
welfare,  is  to  have  found  the  answer  to  every 
human  question,  and  the  cure  for  every  human  ill. 

But  how  to  make  this  discovery  is  the  crucial 
question.  In  our  present  stage  of  existence  we 
have  not  the  faculties  developed  that  would  make 
it  possible  for  us  to  see  God  as  He  is  in  His  essen- 


Introduction 


11 


tial  and  incomprehensible  Being.  We  need  an 
Interpreter.  We  must  have  an  Incarnation.  If  I 
should  want  to  make  a  colony  of  ants  know  me 
as  I  am  in  the  essential  essence  of  my  being,  I 
would  need  to  incarnate  myself  in  the  body  of  an 
ant,  and  speak  to  them  in  their  own  language,  as 
one  ant  to  another.  As  a  human  being  I  might 
stand  over  an  ant-hill  and  harangue  for  a  lifetime, 
and  not  one  word  would  reach  the  ears  of  the 
ants.  They  would  run  to  and  fro  unconscious  of 
my  speech. 

To  know  God,  therefore,  as  He  really  is,  we 
must  go  to  His  incarnation  in  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ.  The  Bible  tells  us  that  no  man  hath  seen 
God  at  any  time,  but  that  the  only  begotten  Son 
of  the  Father,  He  hath  revealed  Him.  When  one 
of  the  disciples  said  to  Christ,  "Show  us  the 
Father,  and  it  sufficeth  us,"  Christ  answered — 
"  Have  I  been  so  long  time  with  you,  and  yet  hast 
thou  not  known  me,  Philip?  He  that  hath  seen 
Me  hath  seen  the  Father,  and  how  sayest  thou 
then,  Show  us  the  Father?  Believest  thou  not 
that  1  am  in  the  Father,  and  the  Father  in  Me  ? 
The  words  I  speak  unto  you  I  speak  not  of  My- 
self :  but  the  Father  that  dwelleth  in  Me,  He  doeth 
the  works." 

Here  then  is  our  opportunity.  We  cannot  see 
God,  but  we  can  see  Christ.  Christ  was  not  only 
the  Son  of  God,  but  He  was  the  Son  of  man  as 
well,  and,  as  a  man  to  men,  He  can  reveal  His 
Father.  Whatever  Christ  was,  that  God  is.  All 
the  unselfishness,  all  the  tenderness,  all  the  kind- 


12 


Introduction 


ness,  all  the  justice,  all  the  goodness,  that  we  see 
in  Christ  is  simply  a  revelation  of  the  unselfish- 
ness, the  tenderness,  the  kindness,  the  justice,  the 
goodness,  of  God. 

Some  one  has  said  lately,  in  words  that  seem 
to  me  inspired,  "Christ  is  the  human  form  of 
God."  And  this  is  the  explanation  of  the  Incar- 
nation. 

1  do  not  mean,  however,  to  say  that  no  one  can 

have  any  revelation  of  God  to  their  souls  except 
those  who  believe  the  Bible,  and  who  know  Christ 
as  He  is  there  revealed.  1  believe  reverently  and 
thankfully  that  "God  is  no  respecter  of  persons: 
but  in  every  nation,  he  that  feareth  I-lim  and 
worketh  righteousness  is  accepted  with  Him." 
God  has  "not  left  Himself  without  a  witness" 
at  any  age  of  the  world.  But  what  I  do  believe 
is  exactly  what  is  declared  in  the  opening  words 
of  the  Epistle  to  the  Hebrews,  that  God,  who 
"  at  sundry  times  and  in  divers  manners  spake  in 
times  past  to  the  Fathers  by  the  Prophets,  hath  in 
these  last  days  spoken  unto  us  by  His  Son,"  who 
is  the  "brightness  of  His  glory,  and  the  express 
image  of  His  person;"  and  that,  therefore,  al- 
though we  may  find  many  partial  revelations 
elsewhere,  if  we  would  know  Him  as  He  really 
is,  we  can  only  see  Him  fully  revealed  in  His 
"express  image,"  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 

It  v^as  a  long  time  before  1  found  this  out,  and, 
until  I  did,  I  was,  as  my  story  will  show, 
as  really  ignorant  of  Him  as  the  most  benighted 
savage,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  1  lived  in  a 


Introduction 


»3 


Christian  community,  and  was  brought  up  in 
a  Christian  Church,  and  had  the  open  Bible  in  my 
hand.  God  was  a  terror  to  me,  until  I  began  to  ^ 
see  Him  in  the  face  of  Jesus  Christ,  when  He 
became  an  unmixed  joy.  And  I  believe  many 
weary  souls  are  in  a  similar  case,  who,  if  they 
could  once  be  made  to  see  that  God  is  like 
Christ,  would  experience  an  unspeakable  relief. 

A  friend  of  mine  told  me  that  her  childhood 
was  passed  in  a  perfect  terror  of  God.  Her 
idea  of  Him  was  that  He  was  a  cruel  giant  with 
an  awful  "Eye"  which  could  see  everything,  no 
matter  how  it  might  be  hidden,  and  that  He  was 
always  spying  upon  her,  and  watching  for 
chances  to  punish  her,  and  to  snatch  away  all 
her  joys.  She  said  she  would  creep  into  bed  at 
night  with  the  dreadful  feeling  that  even  in  the 
dark  the  "Eye  of  God"  was  upon  her;  and  she 
would  pull  the  bed  covers  over  her  head  in  the 
vain  hope,  which  all  the  while  she  knew  was 
vain,  of  hiding  herself  from  this  terrifying  Eye, 
and  would  lie  there  in  a  tremble  of  fright,  saying 
to  herself  in  an  agonized  whisper,  "What  shall 
I  do  ?  Oh,  what  shall  1  do  ?  Even  my  mother 
cannot  save  me  from  God!  " 

With  a  child's  strange  reticence  she  never  told 
any  one  of  her  terror;  but  one  night  her  mother, 
coming  into  the  room  unexpectedly,  heard  the 
poor  little  despairing  cry,  and,  with  a  sudden 
comprehension  of  what  it  meant,  sat  down  be- 
side the  bed,  and,  taking  the  cold  little  hand 
in  hers,  told  her  that  God  was  not  a  dreadful 


Introduction 


tyrant  to  be  afraid  of,  but  was  just  like  Jesus;  and 
tliat  she  knew  how  good  and  kind  Jesus  was, 
and  how  He  loved  little  children,  and  took  them 
in  His  arms  and  blessed  them.  My  friend  said 
she  had  always  loved  the  stories  about  Jesus,  and 
when  she  heard  that  God  was  like  Him,  it  was  a 
perfect  revelation  to  her,  and  took  away  her  fear 
of  God  forever.  She  went  about  all  that  day 
saying  to  herself  over  and  over,  "Oh,  I  am  so 
glad  1  have  found  out  that  God  is  like  Jesus,  for 
Jesus  is  so  nice.  Now  I  need  never  be  afraid  of 
God  any  more."  And  when  she  went  to  bed 
that  night  she  fairly  laughed  out  loud  at  the 
thought  that  such  a  dear  kind  Eye  was  watching 
over  her  and  taking  care  of  her. 

This  little  child  had  got  a  sight  of  God  "  in  the 
face  of  Jesus  Christ,"  and  it  brought  rest  to 
her  soul. 

By  the  discovery  of  God,  therefore,  I  do  not 
mean  anything  mysterious,  or  mystical,  or  unat- 
tainable. I  simply  mean  becoming  acquainted 
with  Him  as  one  becomes  acquainted  with  a 
human  friend  ;  that  is,  finding  out  what  is  His 
nature,  and  His  character,  and  coming  to  under- 
stand His  ways.  I  mean  in  short  discovering 
what  sort  of  a  Being  He  really  is — whether  good 
or  bad,  whether  kind  or  unkind,  whether  selfish 
or  unselfish,  whether  strong  or  weak,  whether 
wise  or  foolish,  whether  just  or  unjust. 

It  is  of  course  evident  that  everything  in  one's 
religious  life  depends  upon  the  sort  of  God 
one  worships.    The  character  of  the  worshipper 


Introduction 


15 


must  necessarily  be  moulded  by  the  character  of 
the  object  worshipped.  If  it  is  a  cruel  and 
revengeful  God,  or  a  selfish  and  unjust  God,  the 
worshipper  will  be  cruel,  and  revengeful,  and 
selfish,  and  unjust,  also.  If  it  is  a  loving,  tender, 
forgiving,  unselfish  God,  the  worshipper  will  be 
loving,  and  tender,  and  forgiving,  and  unselfish, 
as  well.  Also  the  peace  and  happiness  of  the 
worshipper  must  necessarily  be  absolutely  bound 
up  in  the  character  of  the  God  worshipped;  for 
everything  depends  upon  whether  He  is  a  good 
God  or  a  bad  God.  If  He  is  good,  all  is  well  of 
course,  and  one's  peace  can  flow  like  a  river; 
while,  if  He  is  bad,  nothing  can  be  well,  no 
matter  how  earnest  or  devoted  the  worshipper 
may  be,  and  no  peace  is  possible. 

This  was  brought  very  vividly  to  my  mind  by 
hearing  once  in  a  meeting  an  educated  negro, 
belonging  to  one  of  the  savage  tribes  of  Africa, 
giving  an  account  of  their  tribal  religion. 

He  said  that  they  had  two  gods,  a  good 
god  and  a  bad  god;  that  they  did  not  trouble 
themselves  about  the  good  god,  because,  as  he  was 
good,  he  would  do  right  anyhow,  whether  they 
sacrificed  to  him  or  not;  but  the  bad  god  they  had 
to  try  and  propitiate  by  all  sorts  of  prayers,  and 
sacrifices,  and  offerings,  and  religious  ceremonies, 
in  order,  if  possible,  to  get  him  into  a  good 
humour,  so  that  he  might  treat  them  well.  To 
my  thinking,  there  was  a  profound  truth  in  this. 
The  poorer  and  more  imperfect  is  one's  con- 
ception of  God,  the  more  fervent  and  intense 


i6 


Introduction 


will  be  one's  eflforts  to  propitiate  Him,  and  to  put 
Him  into  a  good  humour;  whereas  on  the  other 
hand,  the  higher  and  truer  is  the  knowledge 
of  the  goodness  and  unselfishness  of  God, 
the  less  anxiety,  and  fuss,  and  wrestling,  and 
agonizing,  will  there  be  in  one's  worship.  A 
good  and  unselfish  God  will  be  sure  to  do  right 
anyhow,  whether  we  try  to  propitiate  Him 
or  not,  and  we  can  safely  trust  Him  to  carry  on 
His  affairs  with  very  little  advice  from  us.  As 
to  wrestling  or  agonizing  with  Him  to  fulfill 
what  are  really  only  the  duties  of  His  position,  it 
could  never  be  necessary;  for,  of  course  a  good 
person  always  does  his  duty. 

I  have  discovered  therefore  that  the  statement 
of  the  fact  that  "God  is  good,"  is  really,  if 
we  only  understand  it,  a  sulficient  and  entirely 
satisfactory  assurance  that  our  interests  will 
be  safe  in  His  hands.  Since  He  is  good.  He 
cannot  fail  to  do  His  duty  by  us,  and,  since  He  is 
unselfish.  He  must  necessarily  consider  our 
interests  before  His  own.  When  once  we  are 
assured  of  this,  there  can  be  nothing  left  to  fear. 

Consequently  the  only  really  vital  thing  in  re- 
ligion is  to  become  acquainted  with  God.  Solo- 
mon says,  "Acquaint  thyself  with  God,  and  be 
at  peace;  "  and  1  believe  every  one  of  us  would 
find  that  a  peace  that  passes  all  understanding 
must  necessarily  be  the  result  of  this  acquaint- 
ance. 

Who  is  there  on  earth  who  could  see  and  know 
the  goodness,  and  the  kindness,  and  the  justice, 


Introduction 


17 


and  the  loving  unselfishness,  of  our  God,  as  He 
is  revealed  to  us  in  the  face  of  Jesus  Christ,  and 
fail  to  be  irresistibly  drawn  to  adore  Him  ?  Who 
could  have  anything  but  peace  in  coming  to  know 
that  the  God  who  has  created  us,  and  to  whom 
we  belong  forever,  is  a  God  of  Love  ?  Who  of 
us  can  have  any  more  fears,  after  once  we  have 
found  out  that  He  cares  for  us  as  for  the  apple  of 
His  eye  ?  And  what  else  is  there  that  can  bring 
an  unwavering  peace  ?  Acquaintance  with  doc- 
trines or  dogmas  may  give  peace  for  a  time,  or 
blissful  experiences  may,  or  success  in  service; 
but  the  peace  from  these  can  never  be  trusted  to 
abide.  Doctrines  may  become  obscure,  experi- 
ences may  be  dulled  or  may  change,  we  may  be 
cut  off  by  providential  circumstances  from  our 
work,  all  things  and  all  people  may  seem  to  fail 
us;  and  unless  our  peace  is  founded  upon  some- 
thing more  stable  than  any  of  these,  it  will  waver 
as  the  waves  of  the  sea.  The  only  place  there- 
fore of  permanent  and  abiding  peace  is  to  be 
found  in  an  acquaintance  with  the  goodness  and 
the  unselfishness  of  God. 

It  is  difficult  to  explain  just  what  I  mean  by 
this  acquaintance  with  God.  We  are  so  accus- 
tomed to  think  that  knowing  things  about  Him  is 
sufficient — what  He  has  done,  what  He  has  said, 
what  His  plans  are,  and  what  are  the  doctrines 
concerning  Him, — that  we  stop  short  of  that 
knowledge  of  what  He  really  is  in  nature  and 
character,  which  is  the  only  satisfactory  knowl- 
edge. 


i8 


Introduction 


In  human  relations  we  may  know  a  great  deal 
about  a  person  without  at  all  necessarily  coming 
into  any  actual  acquaintance  with  that  person; 
and  it  is  the  same  in  our  relations  with  God.  We 
may  blunder  on  for  years  thinking  we  know  a 
great  deal  about  Him,  but  never  quite  sure  of 
what  sort  of  a  Being  He  actually  is,  and  conse- 
quently never  finding  any  permanent  rest  or  sat- 
isfaction. And  then,  perhaps  suddenly,  we 
catch  a  sight  of  Him  as  He  is  revealed  in  the  face 
of  Jesus  Christ,  and  we  discover  the  real  God,  as 
He  is,  behind,  and  beneath,  and  within,  all  the 
other  conceptions  of  Him  which  may  have  here- 
tofore puzzled  us;  and  from  that  moment  our 
peace  flows  like  a  river,  and  in  everything  and 
through  everything,  when  perhaps  we  can  rejoice 
in  nothing  else,  we  can  always  and  everywhere 
"rejoice  in  God,  and  joy  in  the  God  of  our  Sal- 
vation." We  no  longer  need  His  promises;  we 
have  found  Himself,  and  he  is  enough  for  every 
need. 

My  own  experience  has  been  something  like 
this.  My  knowledge  of  God,  beginning  on  a 
very  low  plane,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  greatest 
darkness  and  ignorance,  advanced  slowly  through 
many  stages,  and  with  a  vast  amount  of  useless 
conflict  and  wrestling,  to  the  place  where  I 
learned  at  last  that  Christ  was  the  "express 
image"  of  God,  and  where  I  became  therefore  in 
a  measure  acquainted  with  Him,  and  discovered 
to  my  amazement  and  delight  His  utter  unselfish- 
ness, and  saw  that  it  was  safe  to  trust  Him.  And 


Introduction 


19 


from  this  time  all  my  doubts  and  questionings 
have  been  slowly  but  surely  disappearing  in  the 
blaze  of  this  magnificent  knowledge. 

It  is  of  the  processes  leading  to  this  discovery 
by  my  own  soul  that  I  want  to  tell.  But  in  or- 
der to  do  this  I  must  begin  with  the  earliest  influ- 
ences of  my  life,  for  I  am  convinced  that  my 
knowledge  of  my  Heavenly  Father  began  first  of 
all  in  my  knowledge  of  my  earthly  father  and 
mother,  who  were,  I  feel  sure,  the  most  delight- 
ful father  and  mother  any  child  ever  had.  Having 
known  them  and  their  goodness,  it  was  only 
reasonable  for  me  to  believe  that  my  Heavenly 
Father,  who  had  made  them,  must  be  at  least  as 
good  as  the  earthly  father  and  mother  He  had 
made;  and  no  story  of  my  soul  would  be  com- 
plete without  beginning  with  them. 


II 

MY  PARENTS 

I WAS  born  in  Philadelphia,  Pennsylvania,  in 
the  year  1832.  My  parents  were  strict  Quak- 
ers, and  until  my  marriage  at  nineteen,  I 
knew  nothing  of  any  other  religion.  I  had  an 
absolutely  happy  childhood  and  girlhood.  I 
think  so  now,  as  I  look  back  upon  it,  and  my 
diary,  kept  from  the  time  I  was  sixteen  years 
old,  shows  that  I  thought  so  then.  One  of  my 
first  entries  made  in  1848  was  as  follows: — 

"Sixteen  years  of  my  life  have  passed,  and,  as 
I  look  back  at  the  bright  and  happy  days  of  my 
childhood,  and  at  the  quieter  but  more  earnest 
enjoyments  of  my  youth,  my  heart  feels  almost 
bursting  with  gratitude  to  my  kind  and  gracious 
Creator  who  has  filled  my  cup  of  joy  almost  to 
overflowing.  Truly  my  life  has  been  one  fairy 
scene  of  sunshine  and  of  flowers." 

This  may  seem  a  very  roseate  view  to  take  of 
one's  life,  and  might  be  set  down  to  the  enthusi- 
asm and  glamour  of  youth.  But  on  looking  back 
now  at  seventy  years  of  age,  1  can  still  say  the 
same. 

Under  date  of  loth  mo.,  7th,  1849,  when  I 
was  seventeen  years  old  I  wrote : — 

"  I  cannot  understand  it.    I  have  thought  that 

20 


My  Parents 


21 


unless  trials  and  afflictions  come  to  wean  me 
from  the  joys  of  this  life,  I  shall  never  seek  the 
higher  and  holier  joys  of  Heaven.  But  instead 
of  afflictions,  every  day  my  blessings  increase. 
All  around  me  conduces  to  my  happiness  ;  the 
world  is  very  beautiful,  my  friends  are  the  loveli- 
est and  kindest  that  any  one  ever  had;  and 
scarcely  a  trial  or  vexation  comes  to  cast  a  cloud 
over  my  pathway.  And  this  happiness,  this  Fate 
of  happiness,  I  might  almost  call  it,  extends  even 
to  the  smallest  circumstances.  Whatever  1  leave 
to  God  to  decide  for  me  He  always  decides  just 
as  1  want  Him  to.  .  .  .  There  is  a  continual 
clapping  of  hands  and  shouting  of  joyful  voices 
in  my  heart,  and  every  breath  feels  almost  as  if  it 
must  terminate  in  a  smile  of  happiness.  Mother 
says  I  laugh  too  much,  but  the  laugh  is  in  me, 
and  will  come  out,  and  1  cannot  help  it." 

The  same  year  under  date  of  i2th  mo.,  29th, 
I  wrote : — 

"  What  a  happy,  happy  home  is  ours.  I  could 
not  but  think  of  it  to-day  as  the  merry  jokes  and 
tones  of  heartfelt  pleasure  echoed  around  our 
family  board.  And  this  evening,  too,  as  we 
gathered  together  in  our  simple  but  comfortable 
parlour,  it  came  over  me  witn  a  perfect  throb  of 
loy.  Father  was  sitting  on  one  end  of  a  sofa 
leaning  his  head  on  one  hand,  with  the  other 
hand  resting  on  mother's  lap;  she  sat  next,  and 
my  head  was  in  her  lap,  and  I  occupied  the  rest 
of  the  sofa,  1  have  no  doubt,  gracefully  and  well. 
Sallie  was  sitting  in  a  chair  at  the  end  of  the  sofa 
leaning  her  head  on  father's  shoulder,  and  Lop- 
no-Nose  (my  sister  Mary)  was  seated  at  all  our 
feet,  leaning  first  on  one  and  then  on  another. 
All  of  us  were  talking  as  hard  as  we  could,  and 
feeling  as  if  there  was  nothing  wanting,  but  our 


22         The  Unselfishness  of  God 


absent,  dearly  loved  brother  Jim,  to  make  our 
happiness  complete.  Many  perhaps  would  smile 
at  such  quiet,  unobtrusive  pleasures,  but  for  my 
part  they  are  the  kind  of  pleasures  I  enjoy  most 
heartily  and  entirely.  We  can  never  weary  of 
them,  nor  feel  that  their  first  beauty  has  gone,  but 
each  succeeding  day  makes  them  deeper  and  more 
earnest.  Perhaps  1  am  weak  and  foolish  to  take 
so  much  enjoyment  in  things  which  so  many  laugh 
at  as  unworthy  of  thought.  1  know  1  am  but  a 
child,  and  pleased,  as  children  are,  with  very  little 
things.  And  yet  to  me  they  are  not  little.  A  few 
of  my  father's  pleasant  jokes,  spoken  when  I  am 
brushing  his  hat  or  coat  in  the  morning,  will  fill 
my  heart  with  sunshine  for  a  whole  day.  And  1 
am  happy  if  1  may  read  aloud  to  my  mother  some 
book  which  1  love,  or  even  if  1  may  sit  quite  still 
and  think.  Oh,  1  do  love  my  home  better  than 
any  other  place  1  know  of!  I  wonder  if  1  love  it 
too  much.  Sometimes  1  fear  I  do,  for  even  if  I 
leave  it  for  one  night  1  am  more  homesick  than  I 
would  like  any  one  to  know,  except  those  for 
whom  I  long.  Even  when  I  simply  take  a  walk 
I  often  almost  feel  as  if  I  could  cry  to  go  home 
again.  It  is  very  foolish,  but  I  cannot  help  it.  I 
should  die  if  I  had  no  one  to  love,  no  home! 

"But  for  one  thing,  and  I  would  be  perfectly 
happy, — a  father  and  mother,  dearer,  nobler  far, 
than  I  can  express,  a  brother  and  sisters,  uncles 
and  aunts,  and  cousins,  and  friends,  all  to  love 
me,  and,  better  far,  all  for  me  to  love — with  these 
priceless  blessings  1  could  not  but  be  happy. 
One  thing  1  say,  prevents  it,  but  it  prevents  it 
only  a  very  little.  It  is  the  knowledge  that  I  am 
not  prepared  for  eternity,  and  the  small  prospect 
I  have  that  I  ever  shall  be.  1  wish  it  would  give 
me  more  uneasiness,  and  that  1  might  feel  the 
urgent  necessity  there  is  for  me  to  act.  But  I 
cannot  compel  myself  to  feel  it,  and  so  1  go  on  as 


My  Parents 


23 


careless  and  indifferent  as  though  I  had  not  the 
eternal  salvation  of  my  soul  resting  upon  me.  1 
know  it  is  very  dangerous,  but  1  really  can  do 
nothing  towards  rousing  myself;  and  so,  in  spite 
of  it,  1  am  happy — happy  in  myself,  happy  in  my 
home — my  own  dear  home,  happy  in  my  parents, 
my  brother  and  sisters,  and  my  friends,  happy  in 
this  beautiful  world  in  which  I  am  placed — in 
short,  happy  everywhere  and  in  everything, — 
thank  God'/' 

In  1850,  when  I  was  eighteen,  under  date  4th 
mo.,  25th,  1850,  I  write: — 

"I  have  been  thinking  to-day  of  my  present 
life,  and  1  could  hardly  nnd  words  to  express  its 
happiness.  Relatives,  friends,  circumstances,  all 
are  nearly  perfect.  Outwardly  I  have  scarcely 
anything  to  wish  for,  unless  it  is  for  plenty  of 
money  to  give  away,  and  to  buy  flowers  with. 
I  am  crowned  with  blessings  every  day  and  all 
the  day  long.  Oh,  there  never  was  any  one  so 
blessed!  .  .  .  Everything  is  so  beautiful,  and 
everybody  is  so  lovely,  and  I  can  enjoy  it,  and  do 
enjoy  it  all  to  the  very  full.  Sometimes  I  have 
such  heart  gushes,  as  I  call  them,  that  1  can 
scarcely  contain  myself.  1  love  them  dearly,  and 
yet  after  all  perhaps  they  are  a  little  foolish. 
They  are  caused  by  such  slight  things — a  blade 
of  grass,  a  leaf  waving  in  the  wind,  a  bright 
happy  golden  dandelion,  even  an  old  barrel,  or  a 
heap  of  stones,  or  the  creaking  of  a  shoe,  often 
the  rattling  of  a  cart,  or  some  equally  common 
sound,  give  me  for  the  moment  a  sense  of  most 
exquisite  happiness.  Why,  I  cannot  tell.  It  is 
not  the  beauty  of  the  sight  nor  the  harmony  of  the 
sound,  but  only  a  something,  I  know  not  what, 
that  causes  my  heart  to  gush  up  joyfully,  and  my 
very  soul  to  expand.    I  sometimes  think  it  must 


24        The  Unselfishness  of  God 


be  association;  but  with  what?  1  do  not  love 
creaking  shoes  nor  rattling  carts,  and  yet  often 
when  walking  along  the  street  1  fairly  laugh  from 
inward  pleasure  at  the  something  in  that  creaking 
or  rattling.  It  is  not  so  always.  A  hundred  shoes 
may  creak,  and  a  hundred  carts  may  rattle,  and  a 
hundred  barrels  or  heaps  of  stones  may  be  around 
me,  and  jar  painfully  on  ear  and  eye;  but  once  in 
a  while  comes  the  one,  and  then  comes  the  heart 
gush.  To-day  a  drop  of  rain  fell  on  my  fore- 
head, and  I  could  have  laughed  aloud.  But  it 
was  very  silly;  and  I  am  a  foolish  child  alto- 
gether, and  fear  I  always  shall  be.  .  .  .  Yes- 
terday we  went  with  mother  to  the  Shelter  (a 
home  for  little  colored  orphans).  It  was  all 
very  interesting  there,  but  nothing  pleased  me 
so  much  as  when  the  little  Blackies  repeated, 
'  Sparkle,  sparkle,  water  pure,  dirty  hands  I 
can't  endure,'  with  all  the  same  gestures  and 
motions  I  used  so  often  to  do  myself  at  the 
'Infant  School.'  That  gave  me  a  right  earnest 
heart-gush.  I  seemed  almost  to  see  myself  in 
short  frocks  and  panties,  a  little  white  apron,  and 
one  of  those  (as  we  thought)  inimitable  nets  with 
a  beautiful  bow  on  the  side,  which  mother  used 
to  think  was  almost  too  gay,  enclosing  my  frisky 
hair,  sitting  on  the  highest  bench  of  all  in  the 
school,  and  feeling,  and  no  doubt  looking,  as 
proud  as  a  queen." 

Again  under  date  7th  mo.,  9th,  1850,  (after 
describing  the  pleasure  of  a  little  trip  away  from 
home) : — 

"  And  yet  the  pleasantest  of  all  was  to  get 
home  again  last  night.  Home  is  home,  and 
there  is  no  place  like  unto  it.  Every  day  I  enjoy 
it  more  and  more,  and  every  day  I  am  happier. 
Last  night  1  felt  too  happy  almost.    I  fairly 


My  Parents 


25 


wanted  to  turn  heels  over  head  in  my  exuber- 
ance, and  I  did  scream  with  delight.  And  all  for 
no  particular  reason;  only  the  influences  around 
me  were  so  beautiful,  and  it  seemed  just  then  so 
glorious  to  live — to  live,  and  suffer  patiently,  and 
work  earnestly  and  nobly,  and  trust  cheerfully, 
for  years  and  years,  until  the  glorious  end  shall 
come  and  bring  the  reward  of  peace  and  everlast- 
ing happiness." 

Later  in  the  same  year  I  write  under  date  of 
7th  mo.,  1 6th: — 

"  In  two  weeks  we  start  for  a  journey  through 
the  New  England  States  and  to  Newport.  It  is 
grand,  this  plan  of  going  to  Newport — just  the 
very  place  f  had  set  my  heart  on  visiting  this 
summer,  though  I  did  not  at  all  expect  it.  But 
somehow,  I  can  scarcely  tell  how,  whenever  I  set 
my  heart  on  anything  I  am  nearly  always  grati- 
fied. From  a  child  it  has  been  so.  I  can  scarcely 
remember  being  ever  much  disappointed,  and  I 
am  sure  every  step  of  my  life  hitherto  has  been 
through  sunshine  and  flowers.  But  I  do  not 
wonder,  with  such  kind  and  good  parents  it 
could  not  be  otherwise.  They  really  could  not 
do  more  than  they  do  to  make  us  happy,  and 
they  succeed  beautifully.  ...  I  believe  I  do 
not  know  any  children  who  have  so  many  enjoy- 
ments clustered  in  their  home,  although  I  know 
many  whose  parents  are  far  richer." 

I  might  multiply  these  extracts  almost  indefi- 
nitely, for  my  diaries  up  to  the  age  of  nineteen 
are,  with  the  exception  of  my  religious  struggles, 
which  seemed  very  tragic,  but  did  not  really 
affect  my  spirits  much,  one  long  jubilant  song  of 
happiness.    At  nineteen  I  married,  and  a  new 


26         The  Unselfishness  of  God 


life  began  for  me,  which  had  its  own  more 
mature  joys;  but  girlhood  was  over,  and  its  sim- 
ple girlish  "Fate  of  happiness,"  as  1  called  it, 
was  exchanged  for  the  woman's  life  of  sober  re- 
sponsibilities, and  weighty,  although  delightful, 
cares. 

In  looking  back  now  1  can  see  that  this  "  Fate 
of  happiness"  was  created  by  two  causes, — my 
health  and  my  parents.  As  to  health,  I  never 
knew,  through  all  the  first  eighteen  years  of  my 
life,  except  once  when  I  had  an  attack  of  bilious 
fever,  what  it  was  to  be  even  ailing.  1  never 
had  a  headache,  1  did  not  know  I  had  a  back,  I 
never  got  tired,  I  had  a  perfect  digestion,  and 
nothing  ever  caused  me  the  loss  of  a  single  hour's 
sleep.  Moreover  1  was  blessed  with  what  peo- 
ple nowadays  call  "la  joie  de  vivre,"  and  simply 
to  live  seemed  often  happiness  enough  for  me. 

But  the  chiefest  charm  of  my  life  was  that  I 
possessed  the  most  delightful  father  and  mother 
that  ever  lived.  In  the  narrow  Quaker  circle 
into  which  I  was  born,  very  few  of  the  oppor- 
tunities for  amusement  or  excitement  that  come 
to  young  people  nowadays,  were  open  to  us, 
and  all  the  fun  we  could  extract  from  life  was  of 
the  most  simple  and  innocent  kind.  But  with 
such  a  father  and  mother  as  ours,  no  outside 
pleasures  were  needed.  They  were  so  sym- 
pathetic and  loving,  and  so  entirely  on  our  side 
under  all  circumstances,  that  we  looked  upon 
them,  not  as  uncomfortable  criticising  "grown- 
ups," but  almost  as  children  like  ourselves,  with 


My  Parents 


27 


the  same  tastes  and  interests  as  our  own.  We 
considered  them  far  better  comrades  than  any 
others  we  knew;  and  no  fun  the  world  ever  had 
to  offer  was  half  so  attractive  to  us  as  a  quiet 
talk  with  our  mother,  or  a  good  game  of  romps 
with  our  fun-loving  father. 

They  often  used  to  say  that  they  wanted  their 
children  to  have  a  happy  childhood  "tucked 
under  their  jackets  " ;  for  they  were  sure  it  would 
make  us  better  men  and  women,  and  they  took 
care  that  we  should  have  this  priceless  boon.  In 
looking  back  it  seems  to  me  that  there  were 
absolutely  no  clouds  over  my  childhood's  sky. 
One  of  the  much  amused  young  people  of  the 
present  day  said  to  me  once,  with  rather  an 
accent  of  pity,  "It  seems  to  me  you  did  not 
have  many  amusements  when  you  were  young." 
"We  did  not  need  to,"  was  my  prompt  reply. 
"We  had  our  father  and  mother,  and  they  were 
all  the  amusements  we  needed.  They  made  our 
lives  all  sunshine." 

I  wish  I  could  give  to  others  the  vivid  picture  I 
have  of  their  inexpressible  delightfulness.  We 
knew,  down  to  the  very  bottom  of  our  hearts, 
that  they  were  on  our  side  against  the  whole 
world,  and  would  be  our  champions  in  every 
time  of  need.  No  one  could  oppress  us,  neither 
playmates,  nor  friends,  nor  enemies,  not  even 
our  teachers,  (those  paid  oppressors  of  children, 
as  we  felt  all  teachers  to  be),  nor  any  one  the 
whole  world  over,  without  having  to  reckon 
with  those  dear  champions  at  home;  and  the 


28         The  Unselfishness  of  God 


certain  conviction  of  tliis,  surrounded  us  with 
such  a  panoply  of  defence,  that  nothing  had 
power  to  trouble  us  overmuch.  "Wevi'ill  tell 
father,"  or  "We  will  tell  mother,"  was  our  un- 
failing resource  and  consolation  in  every  sorrow. 
In  fact,  so  sure  was  I  of  their  championship,  that, 
when  any  of  my  friends  or  school  fellows  were 
in  trouble,  I  used  to  say,  "Oh  well,  never  mind, 
come  home  with  me  and  let  us  tell  my  father 
and  mother;"  feeling  sure  that  that  dear  father 
and  mother  could  set  the  whole  world  straight, 
if  the  chance  were  only  given  them.  And  when 
the  answer  would  come,  as  it  often  did,  "Oh, 
that  would  be  of  no  use,  for  your  father  and 
mother  cannot  do  everything,"  I  would  say,  with 
a  profound  pity  for  their  ignorance,  "Ah,  you 
do  not  know  my  father  and  mother!  " 

One  of  my  sisters  remembered  to  her  dying 
day,  with  a  deep  sense  of  gratitude,  a  deliver- 
ance our  father  gave  her  from  an  oppressively 
long  lesson  before  she  was  six  years  old.  Kin- 
dergartens were  not  invented  then,  and  all  chil- 
dren were  required  to  study  abstract  lessons  in  a 
way  that  would  be  considered  almost  inhuman 
in  these  days.  My  sister  was  toiling  over  a  sum 
with  a  hopeless  sense  of  incapacity,  and  with 
tears  trickling  over  her  cheeks,  when  my  father 
entered  the  room  and  said:  "  Ho,  Liney,  what  is 
going  wrong?"  She  told  him  as  well  as  she 
could,  and  she  says  she  could  never  forget  his 
tone  of  absolute  comprehension  and  sympathy 
as  he  said,  "Why,  of  course  it  is  too  hard  for 


My  Parents 


29 


my  little  Sally  Dimple;  but  never  mind,  put  it 
away,  and  I  will  make  it  all  right  with  thy 
teacher."  And  my  sister  says  so  strong  a  con- 
viction came  to  her  at  that  moment  of  her  fa- 
ther's championship,  that  she  went  through  all 
the  rest  of  her  school  life  with  an  absolute  sense 
of  protection  that  made  it  impossible  for  any 
"hard  lessons"  ever  to  trouble  her  again. 

It  was  not  that  our  father  or  mother  encouraged 
us  to  shirk  any  duty  that  they  felt  we  were 
capable  of  performing.  But  they  had  so  much 
sympathy  with  us,  and  such  a  sense  of  real 
justice  in  their  dealings  with  us,  that  they  seemed 
always  able  to  discriminate  between  the  possible 
and  the  impossible,  and  to  protect  us  from  the 
latter,  while  cheerily  stimulating  our  efforts  after 
the  former.  They  never  took  it  for  granted,  as 
so  many  ' '  grown-ups  "  do,  that,  because  we  were 
children,  we  must  necessarily  be  in  the  wrong; 
but  they  judged  the  case  on  its  own  merits.  I 
believe  it  was  this  certainty  of  their  justice  that 
was  more  of  a  steady  comfort  to  us  than  almost 
anything  else;  and  I  am  very  sure  it  has  helped 
me  to  understand  the  perfect  justice  of  my 
Heavenly  Father  in  a  way  I  could  not  otherwise 
have  done. 

As  I  say,  they  always  stimulated  us  to  all  right 
eflfort,  but  this  was  never  by  commands  or  by 
harsh  scolding,  but  always  by  sympathy  and  en- 
couragement. They  recognized  our  individuality, 
and  respected  it,  giving  us  principles  for  our 
guidance  rather  than  many  burdensome  rules. 


The  Unselfishness  of  God 


As  far  as  possible  they  threw  the  responsibility 
of  our  conduct  upon  ourselves.  This  degree  of 
personal  liberty  was  a  necessity  to  my  freedom 
loving  nature.  Under  any  other  regime  I  should 
have  wilted  and  withered;  or  else,  which  I  think 
is  more  likely,  should  have  openly  rebelled.  But 
as  it  was,  no  matter  how  averse  I  might  be  to 
any  task,  or  how  discouraged  at  any  difficulty, 
my  father's  cheery  voice  repeating  one  of  his 
homely  proverbs,  "Come,  come,  Han,  stand  up 
to  the  rack,  fodder  or  no  fodder,"  would  always 
drive  away  all  my  reluctance;  and  discourage- 
ments melted  like  snow  before  the  sun,  in  the 
face  of  his  courage-giving  assertion,  "What 
man  has  done,  man  can  do,  and  "  (he  would 
slyly  add)  "consequently  woman."  No  child 
could  have  withstood  such  inspiring  courage. 

My  father's  own  life  had  been  a  living  illustra- 
tion of  the  courage  that  he  so  continually  tried  to 
instill  into  us.  When  a  boy  of  sixteen,  his  father 
lost  a  large  part  of  his  fortune  in  some  West 
Indian  transactions,  and  his  sons  were  obliged  to 
do  what  they  could  for  their  own  support.  My 
father,  with  his  adventurous  spirit,  chose  the  sea, 
and,  beginning  in  the  lowest  place,  he  so  rapidly 
worked  his  way  upward,  that,  at  the  early  age 
of  twenty-four,  he  was  made  captain  of  an  East 
Indiaman,  at  that  time  the  largest  ship  in  the  port 
of  Philadelphia;  and  his  voyages  in  this  ship  were 
remarkably  successful.  He  always  attributed  his 
success  to  the  care  and  guidance  of  his  Heavenly 
Father,  upon  whom  he  relied  in  all  his  affairs,  and 


My  Parents 


31 


whose  especial  help  he  always  asked  and  be- 
lieved he  always  received,  in  every  time  of  need. 
At  the  age  of  twenty-nine  he  gave  up  the  sea, 
and  went  into  business  in  Philadelphia,  and  here 
the  same  energy  and  the  same  reliance  upon 
Divine  help  so  prospered  him,  that  he  was  able 
to  make  a  comfortable  competence  for  his  declin- 
ing years. 

I  well  remember  when  1  was  a  little  girl  often 
wondering  what  sort  of  a  boy  my  father  had 
been,  and  deciding,  as  1  watched  the  roguish 
twinkles  in  the  corners  of  his  clear  grey  eyes, 
and  the  curves  of  fun  around  his  genial  mouth, 
that  he  must  have  been  a  perfectly  splendid  boy, 
and  just  the  kind  1  would  have  liked  for  a  play- 
mate. For,  getting  on  towards  middle  age  as  he 
was  when  we  were  young,  we  found  him  the 
best  playmate  we  children  ever  had.  Some  of 
his  old  friends,  who  remembered  him  as  a  boy, 
used  to  tell  us  that  he  was  at  once  the  most  pro- 
voking and  the  best  beloved  boy  in  all  their 
circle.  No  one  could  keep  their  anger  against 
him  for  more  than  a  moment.  Let  his  tricks  be 
as  vexatious  as  they  might, — and  he  was,  they 
say,  full  and  brimming  over  with  mischief  all 
the  day  long, — no  anger  could  withstand  his 
genuine  and  openly  expressed  sorrow  at  any 
trouble  he  may  have  caused,  and  the  hearty  and 
generous  restitution  he  was  always  ready  to 
offer,  nor  the  merry  rebound  of  fun  that  would 
burst  out  the  moment  his  apologies  had  been  ac- 
cepted.   He  was  always  the  first  to  help  in  every 


32         The  Unselfishness  of  God 


case  of  need;  and  every  one,  whether  friend  or 
foe,  knew  they  could  rely  on  him  for  any  service 
he  was  capable  of  performing.  All  his  friends 
loved  and  admired  him,  even  while  they  scolded 
him,  and  they  generally  found  themselves  laugh- 
ing at  the  very  moment  when  they  meant  to  be 
the  most  severe  and  frowning.  From  childhood 
to  old  age  this  power  of  winning  love  and  ap- 
proval continued  with  him;  and  the  fun  of  his 
boyhood,  developing  into  the  genial  merriment 
of  the  chastened  Christian  heart,  gave  his  mature 
character  a  nameless  charm. 

In  fact  1  do  not  believe  there  ever  was  a  more 
contagiously  cheerful  being  than  our  father.  No 
one  could  help  feeling  happier  because  of  his 
presence.  His  very  hand-shake  was  an  uplift, 
and  seemed  somehow  to  make  the  world  brighter 
than  it  was  before,  and  to  put  you  in  a  better 
humour  with  yourself  and  with  every  one  around 
you.  Many  of  my  friends  have  told  me  that 
they  would  rather  have  had  a  hand-shake  from 
him  than  receive  a  valuable  gift  from  another 
man,  because  somehow,  in  that  hand-shake,  his 
heart  seemed  to  go  right  to  their  hearts,  with 
power  to  cheer  and  help.  1  remember  well  how, 
when  my  childhood's  sky  would  be  all  darkened 
by  some  heavy  childish  affliction,  a  cheery  "  Well, 
Broadie,"  in  his  hearty  voice,  or  some  little  pass- 
ing joke  spoken  with  a  roguish  twinkle  of  his 
loving  grey  eyes,  would  clear  my  sky  in  a  mo- 
ment, and  make  life  all  sunshine  again.  And, 
even  when  I  was  older,  his  power  to  cheer  grew 


My  Parents 


33 


no  less,  and  it  was  quite  my  habit,  whenever  I 
found  myself  down  in  the  depths,  to  put  myself 
somewhere  in  his  way,  with  the  certainty  that 
even  a  moment's  peep  at  his  strong  cheery  face 
would  lift  me  out.  1  can  even  remember  that, 
in  his  absence,  the  sight  and  feel  of  his  dear  old 
overcoat  would  somehow  brighten  everything, 
and  send  me  off  encouraged  to  be  braver  and 
stronger.  To  make  life  happier  for  every  one 
with  whom  he  came  in  contact  seemed  to  be  his 
aim  and  his  mission,  and  rarely  has  any  one  suc- 
ceeded so  well.  Some  one  said  to  me,  many 
years  after  his  death,  that  "John  M.  Whitall  was 
the  best  loved  man  in  Philadelphia";  and  in  cer- 
tain circles  1  am  sure  this  was  true. 

Our  mother  also  was  equally  well  beloved. 
She  was  a  most  delightful  mother,  not  so  full  of 
fun  perhaps  as  our  father,  but  always  ready  to 
champion  her  children's  cause  everywhere  and 
at  all  times,  and  an  unfailing  rock  of  refuge  to  us 
in  every  emergency.  Sweetness  and  goodness, 
purity  and  truth,  seemed  to  emanate  from  her 
gracious  presence;  and,  for  every  one  who  came 
in  contact  with  her,  she  was  an  inspiration  to  all 
that  was  noble  and  good. 

People  talk  in  these  days  of  an  atmosphere  sur- 
rounding each  one  of  us,  something  like  the 
nimbus  that  is  always  painted  about  the  heads 
of  saints.  They  say  it  seems  to  envelop  the 
whole  figure,  and  that  it  influences  for  good  or 
evil  all  who  come  near  it.  It  is  called  the 
"aura,"  and  is  the  outcome  of  each  one's  char- 


34        The  Unselfishness  of  God 


acter  and  inmost  personality.  Some  auras,  we 
are  told,  are  dark  and  gloomy,  and  exert  a  de- 
pressing or  even  a  wicked  influence,  while  others 
are  rose  colour,  or  gold,  or  opal,  or  sky  blue 
and  full  of  light,  and  their  influence  is  cheering 
and  uplifting;  and  all  this  without  perhaps  a 
word  being  said  in  either  case.  If  this  theory  is 
true  1  feel  sure  that  my  father  and  mother  pos- 
sessed "auras"  full  of  heaven's  own  sunshine, 
and,  without  knowing  the  reason,  their  children 
lived  in  perpetual  cheer. 

That  a  childhood  so  lived  could  not  fail  to  have 
an  enormous  influence  on  the  after  history  of  any 
soul,  seems  to  me  incontrovertible;  and  1  attrib- 
ute my  final  satisfying  discovery  of  my  Heavenly 
Father  largely  to  what  I  had  known  of  the  good- 
ness of  my  earthly  parents.  They  never  said 
much  about  religion,  for  the  Quaker  fear  of 
meddling  between  a  soul  and  its  Maker  had 
created  a  habit  of  reserve  that  could  not  easily 
be  broken  through,  but  they  showed  plainly  that 
their  lives  were  lived  in  a  region  of  profound 
faith  in  an  ever  present  God.  We  could  not  but 
see  that  He  was  to  them  a  reality  beyond  all 
other  realities.  Of  religious  teaching  we  had  but 
little,  but  of  religious  example  and  influence  we 
had  a  never-failing  supply.  Not  by  talking,  but 
by  daily  living,  were  impressions  made  on  our 
childish  hearts. 

I  remember  once  however  when  my  father  did 
speak  out  of  the  fullness  of  his  heart,  and  when 
what  he  said  made  a  profound  and  lasting  im-n 


My  Parents 


35 


pression  upon  me.  I  was  a  very  imaginative 
child,  and  consequently  very  frightened  of  the 
dark,  which  I  peopled  with  all  sorts  of  terrible 
monsters,  lurking  under  beds  or  behind  doors, 
ready  to  rush  out  and  devour  me  at  any  moment. 
Of  course,  with  the  profound  reticence  of  child- 
hood, I  never  spoke  of  this;  but  somehow  my 
father  at  last  found  out  that  I  was  afraid  of  the 
dark,  and  instead  of  ridiculing  my  fears  or 
scolding  me,  as  I  felt  in  my  poor  foolish  little 
heart  1  deserved  for  making  such  a  row,  he  took 
me  lovingly  on  his  knee,  and,  putting  his  dear 
strong  arm  around  me,  he  said,  in  tones  of  the 
most  profound  conviction,  "Why,  Han,  did  thee 
not  know  there  is  never  anything  to  be  afraid  of? 
Did  thee  not  know  that  thy  Heavenly  Father  is 
always  with  thee,  and  that  of  course  He  will  al- 
ways take  care  of  thee  ?  "  And  as  I  still  trembled 
and  shivered,  he  added,  as  though  surprised  that 
there  could  be  any  one  in  the  world  who  did  not 
know  this,  "  1  thought  of  course  thee  knew  this, 
child."  I  never  shall  forget  the  profound  impres- 
sion this  made  upon  me,  nor  the  immediate  and 
permanent  relief  from  fear  it  gave  me;  and  I 
have  always  been  sure  that  this  one  statement  of 
a  fact,  which  was  to  my  father  the  most  tremen- 
dous reality  of  his  life,  has  had  more  than  any- 
thing else  to  do  with  the  satisfying  sense  of 
God's  presence  which  has  for  so  long  been  my 
portion.  It  was  not  a  religious  dogma  my  father 
stated  on  this,  to  me,  memorable  occasion,  but  it 
was  a  simple,  incontrovertible  fact  which  he  was 


The  Unselfishness  of  God 


surprised  I  did  not  know;  and,  as  being  the  state- 
ment of  a  fact,  it  was  far  more  comforting  tiian 
any  amount  of  preaching  or  arguing  could  possi- 
bly have  been.  God  was  with  me — and  that  was 
enough;  for  of  course,  being  with  me,  He  would 
naturally  take  care  of  me.  1  remember  that  when 
my  father  lifted  me  down  from  his  lap  and  told 
me  cheerily  to  run  along  and  not  to  be  frightened 
any  more,  1  walked  off  in  a  stately  sort  of  way, 
feeling  as  if  somehow  I  was  safe  inside  an  invisi- 
ble fortress  where  I  could  laugh  to  scorn  all  the 
lurking  monsters  of  the  dark,  and  could  hear 
their  angry  rustles  unmoved. 

I  dare  say  the  rarity  of  any  direct  religious 
teaching  from  our  parents  helped  to  make  the 
few  occasions  when  they  did  speak  more  im- 
pressive; but,  however  this  may  be,  I  can  truly  say 
that,  though  often  obscured  for  a  time,  the  con- 
victions of  that  occasion  have  always  been  with 
me  at  bottom,  and  thousands  of  times  in  my  life 
since,  my  father's  words  then,  have  brought  me 
help. 


Ill 


MY  QUAKER  CHILDHOOD 

NEXT  to  the  influence  of  my  parents 
upon  my  young  life,  was  the  influence 
of  the  religious  Society  of  which  I  was 
a  birthright  member.  I  do  not  think  it  would  be 
possible  for  me  to  express  in  words  how  strong 
and  all  pervading  this  influence  was.  Every 
word  and  thought  and  action  of  our  lives  was 
steeped  in  Quakerism.  Never  for  a  single  mo- 
ment did  we  escape  from  it.  Not  that  we 
wanted  to,  for  we  knew  nothing  different;  but, 
as  my  narrative  will  show,  every  atom  of  our 
consciousness  was  infused  and  possessed  with 
it.  Daily  I  thank  God  that  it  was  such  a  right- 
eous and  ennobling  influence. 

But,  though  so  all  powerful  in  our  lives,  the 
Quakerism  of  my  day  did  not  achieve  its  influ- 
ence by  much  outward  teaching.  One  of  its 
most  profound  beliefs  was  in  regard  to  the  direct 
inward  teaching  of  the  Holy  Spirit  to  each  indi- 
vidual soul;  and  this  discouraged  much  teaching 
by  human  lips.  The  Quakers  accepted  as  liter- 
ally true  the  declarations  of  the  Apostle  John  that 
there  is  a  "  true  Light  which  lighteth  every  man 
that  cometh  into  the  world";  and  their  funda- 
mental teaching  was  that  this  "  Light,"  if  faith- 
37 


38         The  Unselfishness  of  God 


fully  looked  for  and  obeyed,  would  lead  every 
man  into  all  truth.  They  felt  therefore  that  it 
would  be  an  interference  between  the  soul  and 
its  Divine  Guide  and  Teacher  to  intrude  with  any 
mere  teaching  of  man.  They  taught  us  to  listen 
for  and  obey  the  voice  of  God  in  our  souls,  and 
they  believed  if  we  did  this  up  to  our  best 
knowledge,  our  Divine  Guide  would  teach  us  all 
it  was  necessary  for  us  to  know  of  doctrines  or 
dogmas. 

There  was  something  grand  in  this  recognition 
of  human  individuality.  It  left  each  soul  in  an 
absolute  independence  before  its  Creator,  ready 
to  be  taught  directly  by  Him,  without  the  inter- 
ference of  any  human  being,  except  as  that  hu- 
man being  might  be  inspired  by  Himself.  And 
although  in  my  youthful  days  1  did  not  con- 
sciously formulate  this,  yet  the  atmosphere  it 
created,  and  the  individual  dignity  with  which  it 
endowed  every  human  soul,  whether  wise  or 
simple,  rich  or  poor,  learned  or  unlearned,  old  or 
young,  made  each  of  us  feel  from  our  earliest 
days  a  royal  interior  independence  that  nobody, 
not  even  our  parents,  could  touch. 

When  the  Bible  was  read  to  us,  which  was 
frequently  done,  especially  on  "First  Day"  after- 
noons, very  little  explanation  was  ever  attempted, 
but  instead  a  few  moments  of  profound  silence 
were  always  observed  at  the  close  of  the  reading, 
in  order  that  the  "  Inward  Light "  might,  if  it 
should  be  the  Divine  Will,  reveal  to  us  the  mean- 
ing of  what  had  been  read.    1  am  afraid  however 


My  Quaker  Childhood  39 


that  personally  I  was  still  too  unawakened  for 
much  ever  to  be  revealed  to  me.  But  so  strong 
was  this  feeling  among  the  Quakers  in  my  day, 
that  direct  religious  teaching  from  the  lips  of 
human  beings,  except  in  inspired  preaching,  al- 
ways seemed  to  me  to  be  of  the  world,  worldly, 
and  I  felt  it  was  good  only  for  the  "world's 
people,"  who,  because  of  their  ignorance  regard- 
ing the  inward  light,  were  necessarily  obliged  to 
look  outward  for  their  teaching.  In  fact  all 
Bible  expositions,  except  such  as  might  be  di- 
rectly inspired,  were  felt  to  be  worldly;  and 
Bible  classes  and  Sunday-schools  were  considered 
to  be  places  of  worldly  amusement,  which  no 
true  Quaker  ought  to  attend.  Our  teaching  was 
to  come  to  us,  not  from  the  lips  of  human 
teachers,  but  from  the  inward  voice  of  the  Divine 
Teacher  Himself. 

In  this  the  early  Friends  only  believed  what 
Saint  Augustine  taught  when  he  said:  "  It  is  the 
inward  Master  that  teacheth,  it  is  the  inspiration 
that  teacheth;  where  the  inspiration  and  unction 
are  wanting,  it  is  vain  that  words  from  without 
are  beaten  in." 

Their  preaching  therefore  was  mostly  com- 
posed of  exhortations  to  listen  for  this  "inward 
voice,"  and  to  obey  it,  when  heard;  and  never 
once,  during  all  my  young  days,  do  I  remember 
hearing  any  other  sort  of  preaching. 

Not  that  there  might  not  have  been,  however, 
doctrinal  preaching  as  well,  had  I  had  the  ears  to 
hear  it;  but  as  a  fact  no  religious  questions  of  any 


I 


40         The  Unselfishness  of  God 

sort,  except  the  one  overpowering  conviction  that 
somehow  or  other  I  must  manage  to  be  good,  oc- 
cupied my  mind  up  to  the  age  of  sixteen.  I  lived 
only  in  that  strange  mysterious  world  of  child- 
hood, so  far  removed  from  the  "grown-up 
world "  around  it,  where  everything  outside 
seemed  only  a  mere  passing  show.  In  my  world 
all  was  plain  and  simple,  with  no  need  for  any 
questionings.  The  grown-up  people  around 
me  seemed  to  have  their  ridiculous  interests  and 
their  foolish  bothers,  but  these  were  nothing  to 
me  in  my  enchanted  sphere.  Sometimes,  when 
one  of  these  silly  grown-ups  would  suggest  that 
a  time  would  come  when  I  also  would  be  grown 
up,  a  pang  would  come  over  me  at  the  dreadful 
thought,  and  I  would  resolve  to  put  off  the  evil 
day  as  long  as  possible,  by  refusing  to  have  my 
hair  done  up  in  a  knot  behind,  or  to  have  my 
dresses  come  below  my  knees.  I  had  an  idea 
that  grown  up  people  wanted  to  live  children's 
lives,  and  play  children's  plays,  and  have  chil- 
dren's fun,  just  as  much  as  we  children  did,  but 
that  there  was  a  law  which  forbade  it.  And 
when  people  talked  in  my  presence  about  the 
necessity  of  "taking  up  the  cross"  as  you  grew 
older,  I  thought  they  meant  that  you  would  have 
to  stop  climbing  trees  or  rolling  hoops,  or  run- 
ning races,  or  walking  on  the  tops  of  fences,  al- 
though all  the  while  you  would  want  to  do  these 
things  as  much  as  ever;  and  my  childish  heart 
was  often  filled  with  a  profound  pity  for  the  poor 
unfortunate  grown-ups  around  me. 


My  Quaker  Childhood  41 


I  was  a  wild  harum-scarum  sort  of  being,  and 
up  to  the  age  of  sixteen  was  nothing  but  a  light- 
hearted,  irresponsible  child,  determined  to  get  all 
the  fun  I  could  out  of  life,  and  with  none  of  the 
morbid  self-consciousness  that  is  so  often  such  a 
torment  to  young  people. 

The  fact  was,  as  far  as  1  can  recollect,  I  scarcely 
ever  thought  of  myself,  as  myself,  at  all.  My  old 
friends  tell  me  now  that  1  was  considered  a  very 
pretty  girl,  but  I  never  knew  it.  The  question  as 
to  my  looks  never  occurred  to  me.  The  only 
question  that  really  interested  me  was  as  to  my 
fun;  and  how  1  looked,  or  what  people  thought 
of  me  were  things  that  did  not  seem  in  the  least 
to  concern  me. 

I  remember  distinctly  the  first  time  such  ques- 
tions intruded  themselves,  and  the  indignant  way 
in  which  I  rejected  them.  I  think  I  must  have 
been  about  eleven  years  old.  My  mother  had 
sent  for  me  to  go  into  the  drawing-room  to  see 
some  of  her  friends  who  had  asked  for  me. 
Without  a  fear  I  left  my  lessons,  and  went  towards 
the  drawing-room;  when  suddenly,  just  as  I  was 
about  to  enter,  I  was  utterly  surprised  and  taken 
aback  by  an  attack  of  shyness.  I  had  never  had 
the  feeling  before,  and  1  found  it  most  disagreea- 
ble. And  as  1  turned  the  door-knob  I  said  to  my- 
self, "  This  is  ridiculous.  Why  should  I  be  afraid 
of  those  people  in  there  ?  1  am  sure  they  won't 
shoot  me,  and  1  do  not  believe  they  will  think 
anything  about  me;  and,  even  if  they  do,  it  can't 
hurt,  and  1  simply  will  not  be  frightened."  And 


42         The  Unselfishness  of  God 

as  I  said  this,  I  deliberately  threw  my  shyness 
behind  my  back,  and  walked  fearlessly  into  the 
room,  leaving  it  all  outside  the  door.  I  had  made 
the  discovery,  although  I  did  not  know  enough 
then  to  formulate  it,  that  shyness  was  simply 
thinking  about  oneself,  and  that  to  forget  oneself 
was  a  certain  cure;  and  I  do  not  remember  ever 
really  suffering  from  shyness  again.  If  it  ever 
came,  I  just  threw  it  behind  me  as  1  had  done  the 
first  time,  and  literally  refused  to  pay  any  atten- 
tion to  it. 

As  far  as  I  can  remember  therefore  my  life,  up 
to  the  age  of  sixteen,  when  my  religious  awak- 
ening came,  was  an  absolutely  thoughtless  child's 
life.  Self-introversion  and  self-examination  were 
things  of  which  I  knew  nothing,  and  religious 
questions  were  not  so  much  as  dreamed  of  by 
me.  1  look  back  with  wonder  that  so  thoughtless 
a  being  could  have  been  so  preserved  from  out- 
breaking sins  as  I  was,  but  I  recognize  that  for 
this  1  must  thank  the  grand  all-enveloping  Quaker 
atmosphere  of  goodness  and  righteousness,  in 
which  I  lived,  and  which  made  any  such  out- 
breaks almost  an  impossibility. 

I  have  spoken  of  the  Church  into  which  I  was 
born  as  a  religious  society.  It  was  always  called 
in  my  young  days,  "The  religious  Society  of 
Friends,"  and  was  never  by  any  chance  spoken 
of,  as  it  often  is  now,  as  "The  Quaker  Church." 
The  early  Quakers  had  a  strong  testimony  against 
calling  themselves  a  Church,  for  they  did  not  con- 
sider themselves  a  Church  in  any  exclusive  or  in- 


My  Quaker  Childhood  43 


elusive  sense  of  that  word.  The  Church,  accord- 
ing to  their  view,  was  the  invisible  body  of  all 
believers,  belonging  to  every  creed  and  every  na- 
tion, and  they  as  "Friends"  were  only  a  "So- 
ciety "  within  this  great  universal  invisible  Church. 
They  took  their  name  from  our  Lord's  words 
in  John  15:  14,  15:  "Ye  are  My  friends  if  ye  do 
whatsoever  I  command  you.  Henceforth  I  call 
you  not  servants;  for  the  servant  knoweth  not 
what  his  Lord  doeth;  but  1  have  called  you 
friends,  for  all  things  that  I  have  heard  of  My 
Father  I  have  made  known  unto  you."  Their 
one  aim  in  life  was  to  do  whatsoever  the  Lord 
commanded,  and  they  believed  therefore  that  they 
had  been  admitted  into  this  sacred  circle  of  the 
Divine  friendship.  They  had  at  first  no  idea  of 
forming  a  separate  sect,  but  their  association  was 
to  their  minds  only  a  society  of  friends  (with 
neither  a  capital  5  nor  a  capital  F),  who  met  to- 
gether to  share  as  friends,  one  with  another,  the 
Divine  revelations  that  were  made  to  each,  and  to 
encourage  one  another  to  strive  after  the  right- 
eousness that  the  Divine  friendship  demanded. 
That  this  "society  of  friends  "  gradually  assumed 
a  definite  article  and  capital  letters  to  itself,  and 
became  "The  Religious  Society  of  Friends,"  and 
developed  into  a  separate  sect,  was,  I  suppose,  the 
necessary  outcome  of  all  such  movements,  but  it 
has  always  seemed  to  me  a  falling  away  from  the 
simplicity  and  universality  of  the  original  idea. 

The  name  of  Quaker  had  been  bestowed  upon 
them  in  their  early  days  from  the  fact  that,  when 


44         The  Unselfishness  of  God 


preaching  in  their  Meetings,  they  were  seen  to 
quake  or  tremble  under  what  they  believed  to  be 
the  power  of  the  Holy  Ghost.  1  myself,  even  in 
the  quieter  times  when  I  was  a  child,  would 
often  see  the  preachers  in  our  meetings  trembling 
and  quaking  from  head  to  foot,  and  1  confess 
1  always  felt  that  messages  delivered  under  this 
condition  had  a  special  inspiration  and  unction  of 
their  own,  far  beyond  all  others.  In  fact,  unless 
a  preacher  had  at  least  enough  of  this  "  quaking  " 
to  make  their  hearts  palpitate  and  their  legs 
tremble,  they  were  not  considered  by  many 
to  have  the  real  "call"  to  the  ministry  at  all; 
and  one  cannot  therefore  be  surprised  that  the 
name  "Quaker"  had  fastened  itself  on  the 
society. 

But  the  name  chosen  by  themselves  was  a  far 
happier  one,  and  far  more  descriptive  of  what 
they  really  were.  The  "quaking"  was  after  all 
only  an  incident  in  their  religion,  but  friendliness 
was  its  very  essence.  Because  they  believed 
themselves  to  be  the  friends  of  God,  they  realized 
that  they  must  be  in  the  truest  sense  the  friends 
of  all  the  creatures  He  had  created.  They  be- 
lieved it  was  literally  true  that  He  had  made  all 
the  nations  of  men  of  one  blood,  and  that 
all  were  therefore  their  brethren.  One  could 
not  fail  to  realize  this  sense  of  universal  friend- 
ship through  all  the  worship  and  the  work  of 
the  society;  and  personally,  so  deeply  was  it 
impressed  upon  my  young  life,  that  to  this 
day  to  be  a  member  of  the  Society  of  Friends 


My  Quaker  Childhood  45 


means  to  me  to  be  everybody's  friend;  and 
whenever  there  is  any  oppression  or  suffering 
anywhere  in  the  world,  1  instinctively  feel  sure 
that  among  the  first  to  hasten  to  the  rescue 
will  be  a  committee  of  the  Society  of  Friends. 
They  have  in  fact  a  standing  Committee  which 
meets  regularly  to  consider  cases  of  wrong  and 
of  need,  and  it  is  called  significantly  "  The  Meet- 
ing for  Sufferings."  The  society  is  and  always 
has  been  the  friend  of  all  who  are  oppressed. 

Therefore,  while  the  outside  world  generally 
calls  them  "  Quakers,"  I  am  glad  that  they  them- 
selves have  held  steadfastly  to  the  endearing 
name  of  "  Friends." 


IV 


QUAKERISM 

BEFORE  entering  upon  the  subject  of  the 
influence  of  Quakerism  on  my  young  Ufe, 
I  want  it  to  be  thoroughly  understood 
that  I  am  not  trying  in  any  sense  to  give  a  true 
transcript  of  Quakerism,  as  my  elders  understood 
it  and  lived  it,  but  only  as  it  influenced  an  unde- 
veloped eager  girl,  who  had  a  decidedly  religious 
side  to  her  nature,  but  who  was  too  full  of  life 
and  spirits  to  be  very  seriously  interested  in  any 
abstract  questions  outside  of  her  every-day 
duties  and  fun. 

I  cannot  trace  back  my  notions  to  any  definite 
teaching,  and  at  the  time  I  did  not  formulate 
them,  but  the  impressions  I  retain  of  those  days 
seem  to  me  now  to  have  had  their  rise  in  the 
general  atmosphere  that  surrounded  me.  It 
is  very  likely  that  my  adult  relatives  and  friends 
had  no  idea  of  creating  such  an  atmosphere,  and, 
if  they  were  alive  now,  would  be  very  much 
surprised  at  some  of  my  interpretations.  But 
the  fact  remains  that  the  Quakerism  of  my 
young  life  has  left  the  strong  impressions  I 
record,  and  I  want  to  give  them  as  truthfully  as  I 
can,  as  part  of  my  own  personal  history,  an4 
46 


Quakerism 


47 


not  at  all  as  an  authoritative  exposition  of  Quaker 
views. 

In  tracing  back  the  line  of  our  ancestors, 
we  find  that  they  came  over  from  England 
during  the  seventeenth  century,  in  company 
with  a  great  body  of  Quakers  who,  unable  to 
find  in  their  own  land  that  spirit  of  religious 
liberty  which  was  a  fundamental  article  of  their 
faith,  sought  an  asylum  in  the  new  Western 
world,  hoping  there  to  found  a  state  where 
their  children  might  enjoy  that  freedom  to 
worship  God  according  to  the  dictates  of  their 
own  consciences,  which  had  been  denied  to 
themselves  in  the  old  world.  These  Quakers 
had  settled  largely  in  the  colonies  founded  by 
William  Penn  in  and  around  Philadelphia,  on 
both  sides  of  the  Delaware  River,  and  had  be- 
come, by  the  time  I  was  born,  a  most  influential 
and  respected  body. 

A  good  deal  of  their  early  freshness  and 
fervour  had  however  passed  away,  and  it  was  a 
very  sober,  quiet  sort  of  religion  that  remained, 
which  allowed  of  but  little  expression,  and  was 
far  more  entirely  interior  than  seems  to  me  now 
to  have  been  wise.  There  had  been  left  from 
earlier  days  a  firm  belief  in  what  was  always 
spoken  of  as  the  "  perceptible  guidance  of  the 
Holy  Spirit,"  meaning  the  distinct  and  conscious 
voice  of  God  in  the  heart;  and  a  loyal  devotion  to 
what  were  called  "  Friends'  testimonies,"  which 
testimonies  were  the  outward  expression  of  the 
convictions  of  truth  that  had,  they  believed,  been 


48         The  Unselfishness  of  God 

directly  revealed  by  the  "  inward  light "  to  George 
Fox,  the  founder  of  the  society,  and  to  his  early 
followers. 

Many  of  these  convictions  were  opposed  to  the 
usual  ideas  of  people  around  us,  and  their  observ- 
ance therefore  made  the  Quakers  of  my  day  very 
peculiar.  But  we  were  taught  that  it  was  a  great 
honour  to  be  God's  "peculiar  people,"  and  I  for 
one  fully  believed  that  we  Quakers  were  meant 
where  it  says  in  Deuteronomy,  "  The  Lord  hath 
chosen  thee  to  be  a  peculiar  people  unto  Himself 
above  all  the  nations  that  are  upon  the  earth." 
In  the  face  of  such  an  honour,  the  things  in  which 
we  were  "peculiar,"  which  often,  I  acknowl- 
edge, caused  us  considerable  embarrassment  and 
even  trial,  seemed  to  be  a  sort  of  "  hall-mark"  of 
especial  Divine  favour;  and,  instead  of  being  mor- 
tified over  their  peculiarities,  the  Quakers  of  my 
day  were  secretly  proud  of  them,  and  of  the 
singularity  they  caused.  We  Quaker  children 
imbibed  somewhat  of  this  feeling,  arid  when  we 
walked  along  the  streets  in  our  quaint  Quaker 
garb,  and  the  street  gamins  called  after  us,  as 
they  often  did  "  Quaker,  Quaker,  mash  potatoe" 
we  felt  a  sustaining  sense  of  superiority,  that 
took  some  of  the  sting  out  of  the  intended  insult, 
and  enabled  us  to  call  back  with  a  fine  scorn,  as 
having  far  the  best  of  the  matter,  "  Dutchy, 
Dutchy,  Mash-pay-touchy ! "  if  we  were  Quak- 
ers, they  were  perhaps  the  descendants  of  the 
early  German,  or,  as  they  were  called,  "Dutch 
Redemptioners  "  who  were  the  servants  of  the 


Quakerism 


49 


first  colonists;  and  at  any  rate  we  were  deter- 
mined they  should  know  we  thought  they  were. 
1  remember  that  after  my  sisters  and  I  had  dis- 
covered this  efTective  retort,  we  were  able  to 
silence  most  of  our  persecutors. 

But  it  was  sometimes  very  hard  for  us  Quaker 
children  to  be  obliged  to  take  our  share  of  perse- 
cution for  "conscience  sake,"  since  it  was  the 
consciences  of  our  elders  and  not  our  own;  and, 
combined  with  our  pride  in  being  God's  peculiar 
people,  we  also  often  had  a  sense  of  ostracism 
that  1  feel  on  looking  back,  we  ought  not  to  have 
been  asked  to  endure.  Still  1  have  no  doubt  it 
imparted  to  our  characters  a  sort  of  sturdy 
independence  that  was  of  real  value  to  us  in 
our  after  life,  and  1  for  one  have  always  been 
thankful  for  the  deliverance  from  the  fear  of 
man,  and  the  indifference  to  criticism,  that  was, 
I  am  convinced,  engendered  in  my  spirit  by  these 
early  persecutions  for  "  conscience  sake." 

There  was,  as  I  have  said,  very  little  direct  re- 
ligious teaching  to  the  young  Quakers  in  my 
time.  We  were  sometimes  preached  to  in  our 
meetings,  when  a  Friend  in  the  gallery  would 
exhort  the  "  dear  young  people  "  to  be  faithful  to 
their  Divine  Guide;  but  no  doctrines  or  dogmas 
were  ever  taught  us;  and,  unless  one  was  es- 
pecially awakened  in  some  way,  none  of  the  ques- 
tions that  exercise  the  minds  of  young  people  in 
the  present  day  were  even  so  much  as  dreamed  of 
by  the  young  people  of  my  circle,  at  least  so  far 
as  1  knew;  and  a  creature  more  utterly  ignorant 


The  Unselfishness  of  God 


of  all  so-called  religious  truth  than  I  was  up  to 

the  age  of  sixteen,  when  my  awakening  came, 
could  hardly  be  conceived  of  in  these  modern 
times.  The  whole  religious  question  for  me  was 
simply  as  to  whether  I  was  good  enough  to  go  to 
heaven,  or  so  naughty  as  to  deserve  hell.  As  to 
there  being  a  "plan  of  salvation,"  or  any  such 
thing  as  "justification  by  faith,"  it  was  never 
heard  of  among  us.  The  one  vital  point  in  our 
ideas  of  religion  was  as  to  whether  or  not  we 
looked  for  and  obeyed  that  "perceptible  guid- 
ance" of  the  Holy  Spirit,  to  which  we  were  con- 
stantly directed;  and  the  only  definite  teaching 
we  received  as  to  our  religious  life  was  com- 
prised in  "  Friends'  testimonies,"  and  in  the 
"queries"  read  and  answered  every  month  in 
the  "monthly  meetings  for  business"  which 
were  regularly  held  by  every  congregation  of 
Quakers. 

We  had  no  Sunday-schools  nor  Bible  classes; 
in  fact,  as  1  have  said,  these  were  considered  to  be 
a  form  of  "  creaturely  activity  "  only  to  be  ex- 
cused in  the  "world's  people"  (by  which  we 
meant  everybody  who  was  not  a  Quaker),  be- 
cause they  were  in  ignorance,  as  we  believed,  of 
the  far  higher  teachings  of  the  Holy  Spirit  which 
were  our  special  inheritance.  Neither  did  our 
Society  teach  us  any  regular  prayers,  for  Friends 
believed  they  could  only  pray  acceptably  when 
moved  by  the  Spirit  to  pray.  As  little  children 
our  parents  had  taught  us  a  childish  prayer, 
which  we  repeated  every  night  after  we  were 


Quakerism 


51 


tucked  up  in  bed  before  the  last  farewell  kisses 
were  given.  But  as  we  grew  older,  and  our 
parents  recognized  more  and  more  our  individual 
independence,  these  nightly  childish  prayers  were 
omitted,  and  the  Quaker  atmosphere  as  regards 
prayer  gradually  gained  the  ascendency;  and  in 
time  I,  at  least,  came  to  feel  as  if,  because  of  my 
light-hearted  carelessness  and  indifference,  it  was 
almost  wrong  for  me  to  try  to  pray. 

What  this  Quaker  teaching  about  prayer  was 
may  be  gathered  from  the  following  extract  from 
the  writings  of  Isaac  Pennington.  He  says, 
"Prayer  is  a  gift.  A  man  cannot  pray  when  he 
will;  but  he  is  to  watch  and  to  wait,  when  the 
Father  will  kindle  in  him  living  breathings  to- 
wards Himself."  In  consequence  we  knew  no 
formal  prayers,  and  were  not  even  taught  the 
Lord's  prayer,  and  until  1  was  a  woman  1  actually 
did  not  know  it  by  heart,  and  even  to  this  day  I 
am  often  puzzled  for  a  moment  when  1  try  to 
repeat  it.  The  real  truth  is  that  as  a  child  1  got 
the  impression  somehow  that  the  Lord's  prayer 
was  "gay,"  and  that  only  "gay"  people  were 
expected  to  use  it.  By  "gay"  we  meant  any- 
thing that  was  not  Quakerly.  Quakers  were 
"plain"  and  all  the  rest  of  the  world,  and  even 
of  the  Church  were  "gay." 

It  even  seemed  to  me  that  it  was  distinctly 
"gay"  to  kneel  in  prayer.  We  Friends  always 
stood  when  prayer  was  offered  in  our  meetings, 
and  if  we  ever  prayed  on  retiring  at  night,  it  was 
done  after  we  got  into  bed.    And  when,  as 


52        The  Unselfishness  of  God 


sometimes  happened,  one  of  our  little  circle  ven- 
tured to  kneel  beside  her  bed  for  her  evening  de- 
votions, we  always  felt  that  it  was  a  lamentable 
yielding  to  a  worldly  spirit,  and  was  to  be 
mourned  over  as  a  backsliding  from  the  true  faith. 

As  a  fact  all  Church  or  Chapel  services  seemed 
to  us  very  gay  and  worldly,  and  to  join  in  them 
seemed  almost  to  amount  to  sinning;  and  until  I 
was  married  I  had  actually  never  entered  any 
place  of  worship  other  than  Friends'  Meeting 
houses.  1  should  have  felt  it  a  distinct  "falling 
from  grace  "  to  have  done  so. 

I  cannot  remember  that  we  were  distinctly 
taught  any  of  these  things,  or  that  any  one  ever 
said  to  me  in  so  many  words  that  Quakers  were 
the  "  peculiar  people"  spoken  of  in  the  Bible  as 
being  especially  dear  to  God;  but  the  sort  of 
preaching  to  which  we  listened,  and  only  of 
course  half  understood,  in  regard  to  the  privi- 
leges and  the  blessings  of  our  peculiarities,  made 
the  impression  upon  my  young  ignorance  that  in 
some  way,  because  of  our  "  peculiarities,"  we 
were  the  objects  of  especial  Divine  favour;  and  I 
can  remember  very  well  having  the  distinct  feel- 
ing that  we  were  the  true  Israelites  of  whom  the 
Bible  spoke,  and  that  all  who  were  not  Quakers 
belonged  to  the  "outside  Gentiles."  To  tell  the 
whole  truth  1  had  as  a  child  a  confused  idea  in  my 
mind  that  we  Quakers  had  a  different  and  a  far 
higher  God  than  others,  and  that  the  God  other 
Christians  worshipped  was  one  of  the  "Gods  of 
the  Gentiles  "  whom  the  Bible  condemned. 


Quakerism 


53 


That  I  was  not  singular  in  these  feelings  will  be 
shown  in  the  following  extracts  from  the  lately 
published  reminiscences  of  an  American  Friend, 
who  is  an  able  educationalist  of  the  present  day.' 
He  says: 

"I  am  quite  sure  no  Israelite  in  the  days  of 
Israel's  prosperity  ever  had  a  more  certain  convic- 
tion that  he  belonged  to  a  peculiar  people  whom 
the  Lord  had  chosen  for  His  own,  than  I  did. 
There  was  for  me  an  absolute  break  between 
'us'  and  anybody  else.  This  phariseeism  was 
never  taught  me,  nor  encouraged  directly  by  any- 
body, but  1  none  the  less  had  it.  If  1  had  any- 
thing in  the  world  to  glory  over  it  was  that  1  was 
a  Quaker.  Others  about  me  had  a  good  deal 
more  that  was  tangible  than  I  had.  Their  life 
was  easier,  and  they  did  not  have  as  hard  a 
struggle  to  get  the  things  they  wanted  as  we  did. 
But  they  were  not  'chosen,  and  we  were!  As 
far  back  as  I  can  travel  in  my  memory  1  find  this 
sense  of  superiority — a  sort  of  birthright  into 
Divine  grace  and  favour.  I  think  it  came  partly 
from  impressions  I  got  from  'travelling  Friends,' 
whose  visits  had  an  indescribable  influence  upon 
me.  It  will  of  course  seem  to  have  been  a  very 
narrow  view,  and  so  it  was,  but  its  influence  was 
decidedly  important  upon  me.  It  gave  some- 
what of  a  dignity  to  my  little  life  to  feel  that  I 
belonged  to  God's  own  people;  that,  out  of  all 
the  world,  we  had  been  selected  to  be  His,  and 
that  His  wonders  had  been  worked  for  us,  and 
we  were  objects  of  His  special  love  and  care. 

"Everybody  at  home,  as  well  as  many  of  our 
visitors,  believed  implicitly  in  immediate  divine 
guidance.    Those  who  went  out  from  our  meet- 

»  "  A  Boy's  Religion,"  by  Rufus  M.  Jones. 


54         The  Unselfishness  of  God 


ing  to  do  extended  religious  service,  and  there 
were  many  such  visits  undertaken,  always  seemed 
as  directly  selected  for  these  momentous  missions, 
as  were  the  prophets  of  old.  As  far  back  as  I 
can  remember  1  can  see  Friends  sitting  talking 
with  my  grandmother  of  some  '  concern  '  which 
was  'heavy  upon  them,' and  the  whole  matter 
seemed  as  important  as  though  they  had  been 
called  by  an  earthly  king  to  carry  on  the  affairs 
of  an  empire.  It  was  partly  these  cases  of  divine 
sekction,  and  the  constant  impression  that  God 
was  using  these  persons,  whom  1  knew,  to  be 
His  messengers,  that  made  me  so  sure  of  the  fact  ' 
that  we  were  His  chosen  people.  At  any  rate  I 
grew  up  with  this  idea  firmly  fixed." 

I  believe  every  young  "Friend,"  in  the  circle 
to  which  I  belonged,  would  have  owned  to  the 
same  feelings.  We  were  God's  "chosen  peo- 
ple," and,  as  such,  belonged  to  a  religious 
aristocracy  as  real  as  any  earthly  aristocracy 
could  be;  and  I  do  not  believe  any  earl  or  duke 
was  ever  prouder  of  his  earthly  aristocratic  posi- 
tion than  we  were  of  our  heavenly  one. 


V 


QUAKER  "TRUTH,"  AND  QUAKER 
"  MINISTRY" 

SO  certain  were  the  "Friends"  that  theirs 
was  the  true  faith  set  forth  in  the  Bible  and 
preached  by  the  Apostles,  that  in  speaking 
of  it  they  always  in  my  day  called  it  the  "  Truth," 
with  a  capital  "T,"  and  spoke  of  the  religious 
work  of  the  society  as  the  "service  of  Truth." 
And  I  remember  that  my  father's  horses  and  car- 
riages were  called  "Truth's  horses  and  car- 
riages," because  they  were  so  continually  in 
requisition  to  convey  preachers  from  one  meet- 
ing to  another,  or  to  do  errands  for  the  Elders  or 
Overseers.  With  the  unquestioning  faith  of  child- 
hood I  fully  believed  all  this,  and  grew  up  with  a 
distinct  idea  that  we  "  Friends"  had  practically  a 
monopoly  of  "The  Truth,"  with  a  strong  em- 
phasis on  the  definite  article,  which  differentiated 
it  entirely  from  the  holding  of  one  truth  among 
many.  Ours  was  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing 
but  the  truth,  and  could  not  be  improved  upon. 
Such  was  my  idea  in  the  days  of  my  youth. 

That  "Friends "  did,  however,  hold  a  great  deal 
of  truth  (without  any  definite  article)  cannot  be 
denied.    Nearly  every  view  of  divine  things  that 
I  have  since  discovered,  and  every  reform  1  have 
55 


56         The  Unselfishness  of  God 


since  advocated,  had,  I  now  realize,  their  germs 
in  the  views  of  the  Society;  and  over  and  over 
again,  when  some  new  discovery  or  conviction 
has  dawned  upon  me,  1  have  caught  myself  say- 
ing, "Why,  that  was  what  the  early  Friends 
meant,  although  1  never  understood  it  before." 

Many  of  their  great  moral  and  religious  prin- 
ciples have  been  gradually  adopted  and  taught 
by  other  Christians — namely  the  spiritual  inter- 
pretation of  the  Bible  instead  of  the  literal,  the 
use  of  the  Sabbath  for  man,  and  not  man  for  the 
Sabbath,  the  subordination  of  the  symbol  to  the 
spiritual  belief  symbolized,  the  comparative  un- 
importance of  creeds  and  dogmas,  or  of  rites  and 
ceremonies,  the  abhorrence  of  slavery,  the  vital 
importance  of  temperance,  the  direct  access  of 
the  soul  to  God  without  human  intermediary. 
But  in  the  day  when  the  Quakers  first  declared 
these  things,  they  seemed  like  hard  sayings  which 
only  a  few  could  bear.  And  even  those  of  us 
who  were  brought  up  with  them  from  our  very 
cradles,  needed  many  years  of  spiritual  growth 
and  enlightenment  before  we  could  fully  com- 
prehend them. 

One  of  the  truths  they  had  got  hold  of  far 
ahead  of  their  time  was  in  regard  to  the  equality 
in  the  sight  of  God  between  men  and  women. 
They  gave  to  their  "  women  Friends  "  an  equal 
place  with  "men  Friends"  in  the  work  of  the 
ministry,  and  in  the  government  of  the  Society. 
There  were  women  Preachers,  and  women 
Elders,  and  women  Overseers,  who  sat  in  equal 


Quaker  "  Truth  "  and  Quaker  "  Ministry  "  57 


state  with  the  men  Preachers,  and  Elders,  and 
Overseers,  on  the  raised  benches  in  solemn  rows, 
facing  the  body  of  the  meeting,  the  men  on  one 
side  of  the  middle  aisle,  and  the  women  on  the 
other.  The  preachers,  (or  Ministers,  as  we  called 
them),  sat  at  the  head  of  these  solemn  rows,  the 
oldest  and  weightiest  nearest  the  top,  and  grad- 
ually tapering  down  to  the  younger  neophytes, 
whose  gifts  had  only  lately  been  "acknowl- 
edged." 

The  system  of  the  ministry  among  Friends 
was  very  different  from  that  of  any  other  church. 
They  believed  profoundly  that  only  God  could 
make  a  Minister,  and  that  no  preaching  was 
right  except  such  preaching  as  was  directly  and 
immediately  inspired  by  Him.  They  accepted, 
as  the  only  true  equipment  for  the  work  of  the 
ministry,  the  declaration  contained  in  Matthew 
10:  18-20,  and  they  believed  its  promises  would 
be  literally  fulfilled  to  every  faithful  soul,  whether 
man  or  woman,  young  or  old,  learned  or  un- 
learned. "And  ye  shall  be  brought  before  gov- 
ernors and  kings  for  My  sake  for  a  testimony 
against  them  and  the  Gentiles.  But  when  they 
deliver  you  up  take  no  thought  how  or  what  ye 
shall  speak;  for  it  shall  be  given  you  in  that  same 
hour  what  ye  shall  speak,  for  it  is  not  ye  that 
speak  but  the  spirit  of  your  Father  which  speak- 
eth  in  you."  This  promise  contained  for  them 
the  Quaker  "Call"  and  the  Quaker  "Ordi- 
nation"; and  to  "study  for  the  ministry"  in 
colleges  or  out  of  books,  or  to  be  ordained  by  the 


58         The  Unselfishness  of  God 


laying  on  of  human  hands,  seemed  to  them  the 
rejection  of  the  only  Divine  call  and  ordination, 
and  to  result  in  what  they  termed  a  "  man  made 
ministry."  In  their  view  Ministers  could  be  made 
only  by  God,  and  the  power  to  preach  was  a 
direct  "gift"  bestowed  by  Him  alone.  All  that 
could  be  done  was  for  the  Elders  and  Overseers 
of  the  meeting  to  watch  the  development  of  this 
gift;  and,  when  it  seemed  to  them  that  the 
speaking  bore  unmistakable  signs  of  a  Divine 
"unction,"  they  would  meet  together  and  decide 
whether  or  no  to  record  on  their  meeting-books 
that  they  "acknowledged"  so  and  so  to  be  a 
Minister.  This  act  of  "  recording"  or  "  acknowl- 
edging" did  not  make  the  speakers  Ministers;  it 
was  only  the  recognition  and  acknowledgment 
of  the  fact  that  God  had  already  made  them  such. 
When  this  had  been  done,  they  were  called  "  ac- 
knowledged Ministers,"  and  were  felt  by  us  young 
people  to  have  been  admitted  into  the  hierarchy 
of  heaven  itself. 

Moreover,  since  God  had  made  them  Ministers, 
their  payment  or  remuneration  must  come  from 
Him  alone.  No  stipends  or  salaries  were  ever 
given  them,  but  their  ministry,  freely  bestowed 
from  above,  was  freely  handed  forth  to  their  fel- 
low-members, without  money  and  without  price. 
Consequently  all  Quaker  Ministers  continued  in 
their  usual  occupations  while  "exercising  their 
gifts,"  living  on  their  own  incomes,  or  carrying 
on  their  usual  trades  or  businesses.  It  often  left 
them  but  little  time  for  study  or  preparation; 


Quaker  "  Truth  "  and  Quaker  "  Ministry  "  59 

but,  as  no  study  or  preparation  was  permitted, 
this  was  no  drawback. 

For  not  only  was  there  to  be  no  especial  train- 
ing for  the  ministry,  but  it  was  not  thought  right 
to  make  preparation  for  any  particular  service  or 
meeting.  "Friends"'  were  supposed  to  go  to 
their  meetings  with  their  minds  a  blank,  ready  to 
receive  any  message  that  the  Holy  Spirit  might 
see  fit  to  impart.  None  of  them  could  tell  be- 
forehand whether  the  inspiration  would  or  would 
not  come  to  them;  and  the  promise  was  clear 
that,  should  it  come,  it  would  be  given  them  in 
that  same  hour  what  they  should  speak.  All 
preparation  for  preaching  therefore  was  felt  to 
be  a  disloyalty  to  the  Holy  Spirit,  and  was  called 
"creaturely  activity,"  meaning  that  it  was  the 
creature  in  the  individual,  and  not  the  Spirit  of 
God,  that  had  taken  control.  And  no  such 
preaching  was  ever  felt  to  have  that  "unction  of 
the  Spirit"  which  was  the  Quaker  test  of  all 
ministry.  I  have  found  in  an  old  book  of  selec- 
tions from  Isaac  Penington's  writings  the  follow- 
ing concerning  ministers,  which  clearly  expressed 
the  Quaker  view. 

"  It  is  not  preaching  things  that  are  true  which 
makes  a  true  minister,  but  the  receiving  of  his 
ministry  from  the  Lord.  The  gospel  is  the  Lord's 
which  is  to  be  preached,  and  it  is  to  be  preached 
in  His  power;  and  the  ministers  who  preach  it  are 
to  be  endued  with  His  power,  and  to  be  sent  by 
Him.  ...  He  that  will  be  a  true  Minister 
must  receive  both  his  gift,  his  ministry,  and  the 
exercise  of  both,  from  tne  Lord,  and  must  be  sure 


6o         The  Unselfishness  of  God 

in  his  ministering  to  keep  in  tlie  power.  .  .  . 
He  must  wait  in  his  several  exercises,  to  be  en- 
dued witli  matter  and  power  from  on  higii,  before 
he  opens  his  mouth  in  a  testimony  for  the  Lord." 

With  this  view  of  preaching  it  can  easily  be 
understood  that  to  "appear  in  the  ministry,"  as 
it  was  quaintly  expressed,  would  be  felt  by  all 
to  be,  not  only  a  very  solemn  step,  but  also  a 
truly  awful  one.  In  my  young  days  it  was  al- 
ways referred  to  as  "taking  up  the  cross,"  and 
was  looked  upon  as  the  supreme  sacrifice  a  soul 
could  make.  It  has  always  been  hard  for  me  to 
understand  this  feeling,  as  in  my  own  personal 
experience  preaching  has  been  far  more  of  a 
pleasure  than  a  sacrifice.  But  probably  this  may 
have  been  because  I  have  let  in  more  or  less  of 
what  the  early  Friends  would  call  the  "creature " 
into  my  ministry,  and  have  not  attributed  quite 
such  a  high  origin  to  my  utterances.  An  old 
letter  of  my  mother's  concerning  the  "appear- 
ance in  the  ministry  "  of  her  brother,  my  Uncle 
John  Tatum,  will  illustrate  the  state  of  feeling  I 
have  described.  She  is  writing  to  her  father  and 
mother  about  a  visit  to  this  uncle,  and  says: 

"Have  you  heard  of  the  sacrifice  that  dear 
brother  John  has  lately  made  in  yielding  to  what 
I  believe  has  been  a  long-felt  impression  of  duty, 
by  giving  up  to  appear  in  public  testimony  and 
supplication  in  their  meetings.  It  is  since  we 
were  there;  but  we  were  both  particularly  struck 
with  the  marks  of  exercise  and  humble  devoted- 
ness  that  appeared  in  his  daily  walk  and  conver- 
sation.   I  hope  we  shall  all  be  willing  to  yield 


Quaker  "  Truth  "  and  Quaker  "  Ministry  "  6 1 


him  the  strength  of  our  tenderest  sympathy,  and 
to  pray  that  he  may  be  led,  and  guided,  and  kept 
in  the  right  way.  He  does,  I  believe,  feel  often 
much  alone.  He  said  to  me,  '  Ah,  my  dear  sister, 
it  has  been  an  awful  time  with  me  lately,  in  which 
I  have  had  to  seek  the  fields  and  woods  alone, 
and  pray  mightily  for  strength  and  preservation.' " 

I  cannot  but  think  that  it  was  a  false  view  of 
Christian  service  that  led  the  Friends  to  go 
through  such  conflicts  over  what  nowadays  is 
embraced  as  a  glorious  privilege.  But  all  Quak- 
erism in  my  day  was  more  or  less  tinged  with 
this  ascetic  spirit  of  sacrifice,  and  it  was  so  en- 
tirely the  customary  way  of  regarding  the  matter 
that  each  new  recruit  to  the  ministry  uncon- 
sciously fell  into  it.  That  some  of  them  had 
now  and  then  a  glimpse  into  the  privilege  of 
service,  is  shown  by  an  incident  that  occurred 
with  this  very  Uncle  John  some  years  later.  He 
was  speaking  with  my  brother  about  a  "  religious 
visit "  he  had  lately  paid  to  some  neighbouring 
Meetings,  and,  as  they  separated,  he  said  in  a 
very  solemn  and  mournful  tone,  "So  thou  wilt 
see,  dear  James,  what  a  heavy  cross  has  been 
laid  upon  me."  My  brother  expressed  his  sym- 
pathy, and  they  parted,  going  different  ways. 
But  in  a  moment  or  two  my  uncle  walked  hastily 
back,  and  touching  my  brother  on  the  arm  said, 
"  I  am  afraid,  dear  James,  that  I  conveyed  a  false 
impression  in  what  I  said  about  my  ministry  be- 
ing a  cross.  Truth  compels  me  to  confess  to 
thee  that  it  is  not  a  cross  at  all,  but  a  very  blessed 
and  delightful  privilege.    1  am  afraid  we  preach- 


62         The  Unselfishness  of  God 


ers  talk  as  we  do  about  the  cross  in  preaching, 
more  from  habit  tiian  from  any  reality." 

Everything  conspired  however  to  make  Quaker 
ministry  a  most  mysterious  and  solemn  affair  to 
us  young  people.  There  was  something  inde- 
scribably enticing  in  the  idea  of  the  direct  and 
immediate  inspiration  of  our  preachers.  We 
seemed  to  be  living,  as  it  were,  on  the  very  verge 
of  the  spiritual  world,  where  at  any  moment  the 
veil  might  be  lifted,  and  we  might  have  some 
mystical  revelation  from  the  other  side;  and  the 
eager  longing  yet  solemn  awe  with  which  we 
watched  and  waited  for  these  revelations  could 
not,  1  feel  sure,  be  comprehended  by  the  present 
generation  of  young  people,  even  though  they 
should  themselves  be  Quakers.  An  awe  and 
mystery  surrounded  for  us  every  "  ministering 
Friend  "  whether  man  or  woman,  rich  or  poor, 
wise  or  simple;  and  this  wholly  apart  from  the 
personality  of  the  Minister.  It  was  due  only  and 
entirely  to  the  fact  that  we  believed  Ministers  to 
be  the  divinely  chosen  oracles  to  declare  the  mind 
of  God,  and  that  every  word  they  might  say  was 
directly  inspired,  and  was  almost  as  infallible  as 
the  Bible  itself.  Consequently  what  any  one  of 
them  might  be  "led"  to  say  to  oneself  was  a 
matter  of  the  most  vital  importance,  and  the 
most  profound  belief.  One  of  the  greatest  ex- 
citements of  my  young  life  therefore  was  the 
possibility  of  being  at  any  moment  personally 
preached  to  or  prophesied  about  by  some  "  min- 
istering Friend." 


VI 


QUAKER  "OPPORTUNITIES" 

FRIENDS  in  my  days  had  a  way  of  having 
what  were  called  "Opportunities."  What 
this  word  really  meant,  I  suppose  now, 
was  that  they  had  an  opportunity  to  "relieve 
their  minds"  of  some  "message"  that  was 
burdening  it.  But  in  those  days  no  such  ordi- 
nary explanation  of  the  word  ever  occurred 
to  me,  but  an  "Opportunity"  seemed  a  most 
mysterious  divinely  appointed  function,  that  was 
akin  to  a  council  in  the  courts  of  Heaven  itself; 
and  the  one  longing  yet  fear  of  my  young 
life  was  for  some  preacher  to  have  an  "Oppor- 
tunity "  with  me.  On  such  occasions  the 
preacher  was  supposed  to  be  divinely  enabled  to 
see  into  your  most  secret  thoughts,  and  to 
uncover  with  an  unsparing  hand  the  secret  sins 
which  you  had  fondly  hoped  were  known  to 
yourself  alone.  They  were  also  supposed  to  be 
endowed  with  the  power  of  reading  the  future, 
and  might  be  expected  to  foretell  any  great 
blessings  or  dire  misfortunes  that  were  in  store 
for  you.  The  excitement,  therefore,  when  a 
"travelling  Friend"  came  to  the  house  and 
asked  for  an  "Opportunity"  was  intense. 
Whether  fear  or  hope  as  to  the  revelations  that 


64         The  Unselfishness  of  God 


might  be  made,  predominated,  it  would  be  hard 
to  say;  but,  no  matter  what  our  feelings  might 
be,  no  member  of  the  family,  not  even  the 
smallest  servant,  might  dare  to  be  absent.  In 
fact,  when  now  and  then  circumstances  ap- 
peared to  make  it  desirable  that  some  one  should 
stay  away,  the  preacher  often  seemed  to  have 
a  sense  of  it,  and  would  ask  solemnly  if  there 
was  no  one  else,  and  would  decline  to  go  on 
with  the  "Opportunity"  until  the  absent  one 
was  summoned. 

In  these  "Opportunities"  the  preacher  was 
expected  to  "  speak  to  the  condition  "  of  especial 
ones  present,  and  the  great  excitement  was  as  to 
whether  one's  own  condition  would  be  spoken 
to.  With  what  eager  hope  and  fear  I  always 
waited  to  see  if  the  preacher  would  speak  to  my 
condition,  no  words  can  describe;  but  never 
once  in  my  recollection  was  this  supreme  favour 
conferred  upon  me.  No  preacher  ever  vouch- 
safed to  notice  me  in  any  especial  manner, 
nor  seemed  aware  of  the  presence  of  an  eager 
hungry  soul  reaching  blindly  out  after  the  Light, 
to  whom  a  few  words  "direct  from  God" 
would  have  come  as  an  unspeakable  boon.  To 
tell  the  truth  I  was  always  expecting  some  won- 
derful prophecy  to  be  made  concerning  me — that 
I  was  to  be  a  great  preacher,  and  was  to  do 
some  great  work  for  God;  and  though  1  dreaded 
the  revelations  of  my  unrighteous  condition  that 
might  be  made,  I  felt  that  the  glory  of  the  hoped- 
for  prophecies  would  more  than  make  up  for 


Quaker  "Opportunities"  65 


them.  I  remember  well  how  1  used  to  hang 
about  any  "travelling  Friends"  who  might  come 
to  the  house,  in  the  hope  that  at  some  unex- 
pected moment  the  Divine  afflatus  would  come 
upon  them,  and  the  "message"  I  longed  for 
might  be  delivered  to  me. 

For  it  must  be  understood  that  these  "Oppor- 
tunities" were  never  by  any  manner  of  means 
arranged  for.  They  were  always  ushered  in  by 
a  solemn  hush  falling  suddenly  upon  the  com- 
pany, and  this  hush  might  come  at  any  moment, 
even  the  most  inconvenient;  but,  wherever  it  was 
or  whatever  was  going  on,  everything  had  to  give 
way  for  it.  I  have  known  "Opportunities"  to 
come  in  the  middle  of  a  social  evening,  or  even 
in  the  midst  of  a  meal,  or  when  the  preacher  was 
bidding  farewell  to  the  household,  or  when  tak- 
ing a  walk  with  some  one,  or  when  going  to  bed 
in  the  same  room  with  a  friend.  They  often 
came  most  inconveniently;  but  nothing  was 
allowed  to  hinder.  I  remember  once  assisting  at 
one  when  1  was  waiting  on  a  preaching  aunt  on 
a  visit  to  a  Friend's  house  in  Burlington,  New 
Jersey.  We  had  packed  our  trunks,  and  they 
were  piled  on  the  carriage  at  the  door  ready 
to  take  us  to  the  train,  when  suddenly,  as 
we  were  standing  up  bidding  our  hosts  farewell, 
a  silence  fell,  and  an  "Opportunity"  came  upon 
my  aunt,  and,  while  I  stood,  holding  her  shawl, 
in  a  fever  of  impatience  to  be  gone,  she  had  to 
stop  and  deliver  her  message,  regardless  of  all 
considerations  of  time  and  trains.     1  was  a 


66        The  Unselfishness  of  God 


woman  by  this  time,  and  had  lost  a  little  of 
my  faith  in  the  divine  origin  of  these  "Oppor- 
tunities," and  1  remember  that  1  could  not  help 
upbraiding  her  a  little,  when  at  last  we  got  off  to 
our  train,  for  the  inopportune  moment  she  had 
chosen.  But  her  reply  silenced  me  when  she  said 
with  the  most  guileless  faith,  "But,  my  dear,  I 
could  not  disobey  my  Guide,  and  thee  sees  He 
has  brought  us  to  the  train  in  time  after  all." 

No  one  but  those  who  had  experienced  them 
could  possibly  understand  the  profound  impres- 
sion these  "Opportunities"  made  upon  the 
Quaker  life  of  my  childhood.  And  even  to  this 
day  when,  as  sometimes  happens,  a  silence  for  a 
moment  suddenly  falls  upon  a  company,  my  first 
instinctive  terror  is  lest  it  should  be  an  "oppor- 
tunity," and  somebody  should  have  to  preach. 

The  awe-inspiring  effect  of  these  "opportuni- 
ties," and  the  absolute  confidence  that  was  placed 
in  the  messages  so  delivered,  cannot  be  better 
illustrated  than  by  what  happened  during  a  visit 
of  some  "English  Friends"  to  our  meetings  in 
Philadelphia,  when  I  was  about  seventeen.  I 
should  say  here  that  it  was  the  custom  among 
the  "Friends"  for  preachers  in  different  places 
to  have  what  they  called  "religious  concerns" 
to  visit  other  Meetings  and  neighbourhoods,  in, 
as  they  quaintly  expressed  it,  "the  service  of 
Truth."  These  visits  were  always  occasions  of 
great  interest  to  us  young  people,  even  though 
the  preacher  might  not  have  come  from  any 
great   distance;    but   when  they  came  from 


Quaker  "Opportunities"  67 


England,  which  was  to  us  an  unknown  land 
of  grandeur  and  of  mystery,  our  awe  and  rever- 
ence knew  no  bounds.  "English  Friends" 
seemed  to  us  almost  like  visitants  from  an 
angelic  sphere;  and  to  be  noticed  or  spoken  to  by 
one  of  them  made  the  fortunate  recipients  feel  as 
though  Heaven  itself  had  come  down  to  them. 

The  English  Friends  I  speak  of  were  enter- 
tained, during  their  stay  in  Philadelphia,  by 
Marmaduke  and  Sarah  Cope,  who  lived  in  Filbert 
Street  opposite  to  our  house.  Their  daughter 
Madgie,  was  an  intimate  friend  of  mine,  and  one 
morning  she  came  to  me  in  a  great  state  of 
excitement  over  a  remarkable  "Opportunity," 
which  she  said  one  of  the  "English  Friends" 
had  had  the  evening  before  with  a  young  man 
we  both  knew.  She  said  some  Friends  had 
dropped  in  to  see  the  English  Friends,  and  during 
the  course  of  the  evening,  an  "Opportunity" 
had  come  upon  them,  and  one  of  the  travelling 
Friends  had  begun  to  preach.  After  a  short  ex- 
hortation, he  had  singled  out  this  young  man, 
and  had  addressed  him  in  a  most  remarkable 
manner,  telling  him  that  he  had  received  a  direct 
call  from  God  to  enter  into  the  ministry,  and 
prophesying  that  he  was  to  become  a  great 
preacher,  and  was  to  visit  far  distant  lands  in 
the  "service  of  Truth." 

I  can  remember  vividly  to  this  day  the  profound 
impression  made  upon  me  by  this  occurrence. 
The  preacher  who  had  delivered  the  message  to 
this  young  man  was  one  upon  whom  1  had  placed 


68        The  Unselfishness  of  God 


all  my  hopes  for  a  direct  message,  and  had  been 
disappointed;  and  now  he  had  prophesied  about 
a  young  man,  who  in  my  opinion  was  no  more 
deserving  than  myself,  the  very  things  that  I  was 
always  wanting  some  preacher  to  prophesy  about 
me.  I  confess  1  felt  deep  pangs  of  jealousy  that 
the  "  Divine  favour"  should  have  overlooked  me, 
and  been  bestowed  upon  one  who  really  seemed 
to  me  no  more  worthy.  However,  it  was  all  a 
part  of  the  great  romance  of  our  lives,  and  there 
was  always  the  possibility  that  it  might  still,  at 
some  blessed  "Opportunity,"  be  bestowed  upon 
me,  and  I  went  about  for  days  full  of  the  subject. 

A  day  or  two  after  it  occurred  I  was  out  driving 
with  a  very  especial  friend,  the  one  who,  as  will 
appear  in  another  part  of  my  story,  had  been  the 
means  of  my  awakening  at  sixteen.  1  was  at 
this  time  nearly  seventeen,  and  my  friend  was 
perhaps  nine  or  ten  years  older.  I  had  for  her  a 
very  adoring  friendship,  and  always  poured  out 
into  her  sympathizing  ears  everything  that  inter- 
ested me.  Being  this  day  full  of  the  subject,  I  of 
course  detailed  the  whole  story  to  her,  investing 
it  with  all  the  importance  it  had  assumed  in  my 
own  eyes.  My  friend  seemed  deeply  interested, 
and  asked  a  great  many  questions  as  to  the  de- 
tails of  the  "message"  and  how  it  had  affected 
the  young  man.  Not  many  weeks  afterwards 
she  told  me  she  was  engaged  to  be  married  to 
this  very  young  man,  and  confessed  that  she  had 
been  largely  influenced  in  her  decision  by  what 
I  had  told  her,  as  she  was  sure  the  prophecy  made 


Quaker  "Opportunities"  69 


in  that  "  Opportunity  "  would  be  fulfilled,  and  she 
felt  it  would  be  a  great  privilege  to  be  united  to 
one  whose  future  was  to  be  so  full  of  work  in 
the  "  service  of  Truth." 

I  have  always  watched  the  career  of  that  young 
man  with  the  deepest  interest,  because  I  could 
not  help  feeling  at  the  time  that  he  had  received  a 
message  which  by  rights  ought  to  have  come  to 
me;  and  I  must  confess  that  the  prophecies  which 
made  me  so  jealous  have  never  been  fulfilled  in 
his  case;  and,  now  that  we  are  both  old  people, 
1  cannot  but  see  that  my  life  has  come  far  nearer 
their  fulfillment  than  his.  He  has  been  a  most 
upright,  conscientious  man,  and  truly  religious  in 
a  quiet  way,  but  he  has  never  become  a  preacher, 
nor  done  any  public  Christian  work.  While  I, 
without  any  "  message  "  or  any  "call,"  such  as  I 
was  always  longing  for,  and  supposed  to  be 
necessary,  did  become  a  preacher  and  have  tried 
to  proclaim  in  many  countries  the  "good  news 
of  the  gospel  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ." 

In  this  case,  therefore,  the  "message"  seemed 
to  fail  to  find  entrance.  But  on  so  many  occa- 
sions similar  messages  were  so  marvellously  ful- 
filled, and  the  accounts  of  these  cases  were  so 
constantly  retailed  to  us  as  strengtheners  to  our 
faith,  that  it  is  no  wonder  we  grew  up  with  a 
profound  belief  in  their  infallibility.  I  have  many 
times  known  a  Quaker  preacher  in  a  "  Meeting  " 
or  an  "  Opportunity  "  make  a  revelation  to  an  in- 
dividual present  of  something  known  only  to 
that  individual,  or  prophesy  something  for  the 


yo        The  Unselfishness  of  God 


future  of  an  individual  or  of  a  community,  of 
which  there  was  no  present  indication,  but  which 
came  true  just  as  it  had  been  declared  it  would. 

I  knew  one  woman  Friend,  who  seemed  to 
have  this  gift  in  a  remarkable  degree.  I  remem- 
ber her  once  stopping  in  the  middle  of  a  sermon 
she  was  preaching  at  a  week-day  meeting  to  a 
congregation  of  entire  strangers,  and  saying,  "A 
young  man  has  entered  this  room  who  has  in  his 
pocket  some  papers  by  means  of  which  he  is 
about  to  commit  a  great  sin.    If  he  will  come  to 

see  me  this  afternoon  at  (mentioning  the 

house  at  which  she  was  staying),  I  have  a  mes- 
sage from  the  Lord  to  give  him  that  will  show 
him  a  way  out  of  his  trouble."  She  then  resumed 
her  sermon  where  she  had  left  off,  and  said  noth- 
ing further  of  the  incident.  I  was  very  much  in- 
terested to  follow  this  up,  and  I  found  a  strange 
young  man  did  in  fact  call  on  the  preacher  that 
afternoon  and  confess  that  he  had  a  forged  cheque 
in  his  pocket,  which  he  was  on  his  way  to  cash, 
when  some  influence,  he  could  not  tell  what,  had 
induced  him  to  turn  into  the  Meeting-house  as  he 
was  passing.  His  name  was  not  asked  for  nor 
given,  but  the  message  from  the  Lord  was  deliv- 
ered, and  the  young  man  tore  up  the  forged 
cheque  in  the  preacher's  presence,  and  promised 
to  lead  a  new  life.  And  some  years  afterwards 
the  preacher  met  him  and  found  that  this  promise 
had  been  fulfilled. 

On  another  occasion,  when  this  same  preacher 
was  staying  in  the  country  at  the  house  of  a 


Quaker  "Opportunities"  71 


cousin  of  mine,  she  came  down  to  breakfast  one 
morning  and  said  that  the  Lord  had  revealed  to 
her  in  the  night  that  she  was  to  take  a  message 
to  a  man  living  some  miles  off.  No  name  had 
been  given  her,  nor  any  indication  as  to  the 
whereabouts  of  the  man  she  was  to  see,  but  she 
told  my  cousin,  that,  if  he  would  take  her  in  his 
carriage,  she  was  sure  the  Lord  would  show  them 
in  which  direction  to  go.  They  set  out  therefore, 
and  the  preacher  pointed  out  one  road  after 
another  which  they  were  to  take,  and,  finally, 
when  about  six  miles  from  home,  and  in  a  part 
of  the  country  about  which  neither  the  preacher 
nor  my  cousin  knew  anything,  she  pointed  to  a 
house  they  saw  in  the  distance,  and  said,  "  that  is 
the  house,  and  when  we  get  there  I  shall  find  the 
man  in  the  garden,  and  thou  may  wait  for  me  at 
the  gate."  They  accordingly  stopped  at  this 
house,  and,  while  my  cousin  waited,  the  preacher 
went  straight  through  the  grounds  into  the  gar- 
den, and  delivered  her  message  to  the  man  she 
found  there.  She  told  him  he  was  contemplat- 
ing a  very  wrong  action  which  would  bring 
great  trouble  upon  himself  and  his  family,  but  the 
Lord  was  willing  to  deliver  him,  and  had  sent  her 
to  open  his  eyes  to  the  sin  and  the  danger  of  what 
he  had  decided  to  do.  The  man  was  deeply  im- 
pressed, and,  after  a  little  hesitation,  confessed 
that  all  she  had  said  was  true,  and  that  that  very 
day  had  been  the  time  when  his  plan  was  to  have 
been  carried  out,  but  that  now  he  dared  not  go 
on  with  it.    He  then  and  there  gave  it  up,  and 


72         The  Unselfishness  of  God 


said,  after  such  a  manifest  token  of  God's  inter- 
est in  him,  he  would  put  the  whole  matter  into 
His  care,  and  would  trust  Him  to  manage  it. 
And  after  events  proved  that  this  had  been  really 
done,  and  that  all  had  turned  out  far  better  than 
he  could  have  expected. 

Were  there  space  I  could  relate  hundreds  of 
similar  incidents,  but  these  will  suffice.  It  will 
easily  be  understood,  however,  that,  in  the  face 
of  facts  such  as  these,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered 
at  that  we  were  full  of  faith.  Until  I  was  mar- 
ried, a  Minister  was  to  me  a  person  altogether 
removed  from  the  ordinary  ranks  of  men  and 
women,  a  being  almost  from  another  sphere, 
with  none  of  the  common  weaknesses  of  hu- 
manity, set  apart  for  a  Divine  work,  and  en- 
dowed with  almost  Divine  attributes.  When  I 
was  a  child  1  used  to  sit  and  watch  them  in 
"  meeting  "  as  they  sat  in  long  rows  on  the  high 
benches  facing  the  audience,  the  men  on  one  side 
and  the  women  on  the  other,  expecting  every 
minute  to  see  revealed  the  halo  which  I  was  sure 
must  be  encircling  their  heads,  although  invisible 
to  me.  And  sometimes,  when  1  got  tired  of 
waiting,  I  would  screw  up  my  eyes  until  1  cre- 
ated a  sort  of  shining  circle  around  every  object 
I  looked  at,  and  then  tried  to  persuade  myself 
that  this  was  the  invisible  halo  I  was  so  longing 
to  see. 

As  I  grew  older  these  fancies  of  course  left  me; 
but  for  many  years  a  delightful  mystery  and  awe 
still  encircled  the  "gallery  Friends: "  and  the  com- 


Quaker  "  Opportunities  " 


73 


ing  of  a  "  travelling  Minister "  continued  to  fill  me 
with  eager  and  delicious  expectations.  Espe- 
cially was  this  the  case  after  my  awakening  at 
sixteen.  In  my  diary  1  wrote  in  reference  to  the 
very  Minister  who  had  given  that  wonderful 
message  to  the  young  man,  as  follows:  — 

"Eleventh  month,  29th,  1848.  I  heard  to-day 
the  most  delightful  news  I  have  heard  for  a  long 
time.  The  English  Friends,  dear  Benjamin  See- 
bohm  and  Robert  Lindsay,  are  expected  in  town 
by  next  First  Day.  Oh!  won't  it  be  joyful!  joy- 
ful! They  will  be  at  our  First  Day  evening 
meeting.  Hurrah!  Oh!  I  am  so  glad  I  can 
hardly  contain  myself.  1  am  very  different  from 
what  I  was  when  they  were  here  last. 

Deeper  than  the  gilded  surface 

Ilath  my  wakeful  vision  seen, 
Further  than  the  narrow  present 

Have  my  journeyings  been. 
I  have,  midst  life's  empty  visions, 

Heard  the  solemn  step  of  time, 
And  the  low  mysterious  voices 

Of  another  clime. 
All  the  mystery  of  Being 

lias  upon  my  Spirit  pressed; 
Thoughts  which,  like  the  Deluge  wanderer 

Find  no  place  of  rest." 

I  fully  expected  these  inspired  Friends  to  know 
by  inward  revelation  all  I  had  been  going  through, 
and  of  course  hoped  they  would  have  a  Divine 
message  for  me,  direct  from  God.  The  longed 
for  First  Day  came  and  1  went  to  meeting  with 


74        The  Unselfishness  of  God 


my  brother,  full  of  fearsome  yet  delicious  antici- 
pations. But  alas!  as  was  always  the  case  with 
me,  1  was  doomed  to  disappointment.  Still  it 
might  come  another  time,  and  1  lived  in  hope. 

It  was  this  constant  expectation  of  a  direct 
word  from  God  that  made  the  romance  of  my 
young  life,  and  that  was  1  feel  sure,  one  of  the 
secrets  of  the  great  hold  Quakerism  had  on  the 
young  people  of  my  day. 

But,  except  for  this  inspirational  preaching,  we 
received  from  our  society  very  little  definite  re- 
ligious teaching  of  any  kind.  We  had,  as  1  have 
said,  no  Sunday-schools,  and  no  Bible  classes, 
and  doctrines  and  dogmas  were,  to  me  at  least, 
an  absolutely  unknown  quantity.  We  had  no 
Catechism  and  were  not  even  taught  the  Ten 
Commandments,  as  they  were  felt  to  belong  to 
the  old  Jewish  dispensation  which  had  passed 
away  in  Christ.  I  do  not  suppose  that  1  was 
ever  told  so,  but  I  had  a  distinct  feeling  as  a  child 
that  the  Ten  Commandments,  like  the  Lord's 
Prayer,  were  for  "gay"  and  "worldly"  uses.  I 
felt  somehow  that  they  belonged  only  to  the 
outside  world,  (/'.  e.,  all  who  were  not  Friends,) 
who  probably  needed  outward  commandments 
to  keep  them  good,  while  we  Friends  were  to  be 
good  from  deeper  motives.  For  it  was  not  that 
the  moral  training  of  the  "Ten  Commandments" 
had  ceased  to  be  binding,  but  that  the  Friends 
believed  it  was  far  more  fully  taught  in  the  new 
commandments  of  the  dispensation  of  Christ, 
which  were  to  be  written,  not  on  tables  of  stone, 


Quaker  "Opportunities"  75 


nor  even  on  the  pages  of  a  book,  but  upon  the 
spiritual  tablets  of  our  hearts. 

They  believed  that,  because  we  were  in  Christ, 
we  were  to  be  controlled  by  a  law  from  within 
and  not  by  a  law  from  without;  and  to  them  it 
was  literally  true  that  for  people  who  were  led 
of  the  Spirit,  there  "was  no  law."  They  taught 
that  the  fruit  of  the  indwelling  Spirit  would 
necessarily  be  the  fulfilling  of  the  law,  and  that 
therefore  no  outward  law  would  be  needed; 
that,  just  as  a  man  who  is  honest  at  heart  needs 
no  law  to  keep  him  from  dishonesty,  so,  if  a 
man  is  truly  a  Christian,  he  will  need  no  law  to 
make  him  act  as  a  Christian  ought  to  act.  He 
will  do  it  by  the  impulse  of  his  inward  life.  The 
early  Friends  fully  believed  that  if  God  has  pos- 
session of  the  heart  He  will  work  in  us  both  to 
will  and  to  do  of  His  own  good  pleasure,  and 
that  an  outward  law,  therefore,  would  be  a 
superfluity.  We  were  consequently  directed  to 
yield  ourselves  to  this  inward  Divine  working, 
and  to  listen  for  the  Voice  of  the  Holy  Spirit  in 
our  hearts;  and  we  were  taught  that,  when  this 
Voice  was  heard,  it  must  be  implicitly  and  faith- 
fully obeyed. 

We  were  to  expect  to  hear  this  "  inward  voice  " 
at  any  or  all  times,  and  about  all  things;  but  were 
encouraged  to  look  for  it  especially  in  our  "  meet- 
ings for  worship"  when  the  whole  congrega- 
tion were  sitting  in  silence  "before  the  Lord." 
Quaker  meetings  were  always  held  on  this  basis 
of  silent  waiting,  in  order  that  in  the  silence,  the 


The  Unselfishness  of  God 


Holy  Spirit  migiit  have  an  opportunity  of  speak- 
ing directly  to  each  individual  soul.  The  Friends 
recognized  the  unseen  but  living  presence  of 
Christ  in  their  meetings,  and  no  individual  was 
set  apart  to  "conduct  their  service,"  or  to  be  a 
mediator  between  their  souls  and  their  invisible 
Teacher.  The  silence  might  not  be  broken  by 
any  one,  not  even  by  an  "acknowledged  Minis- 
ter," except  under  a  sense  of  the  direct  and  im- 
mediate guidance  of  the  Spirit;  but,  under  that 
guidance,  any  one,  even  the  poorest  washer- 
woman or  the  smallest  child,  might  deliver  the 
"message."  This  gave  a  mysterious  and  even 
romantic  interest  to  our  meetings,  as  we  never 
knew  what  might  happen,  or  who,  even  perhaps 
ourselves,  might  be  "  led  "  to  take  part. 

I  cannot  say,  however,  that  anything  especial 
ever  came  to  me  in  any  meeting.  Now  and  then 
a  sermon  would  be  preached  that  seemed  perhaps 
to  apply  to  my  case,  but  never  strikingly  enough 
to  really  impress  me;  and  now  and  then  it  would 
happen  that  by  some  mysterious  influence  my 
heart  would  be  "tendered,"  as  it  was  termed, 
and  1  would  feel  for  a  little  while  as  though  God 
did  after  all  care  for  me  and  would  help  me.  But 
as  a  general  thing  my  "meetings"  were  mostly 
passed  in  building  air  castles,  an  occupation  that 
I  felt  to  be  very  wrong,  but  which  had  an  irre- 
sistible fascination  for  me.  Curiously  enough, 
these  day  dreams  never  took  the  form  of  love 
stories,  as  youthful  air  castles  so  generally  do,  1 
suppose  because  I  had  never  been  allowed  to  read 


Quaker  "  Opportunities  "  77 


novels,  and  never  heard  anything  about  falling  in 
love.  But  I  always  made  myself  out  to  be  some- 
thing very  wonderful  and  grand,  and  the  admired 
of  all  beholders.  Sometimes  I  was  to  be  a  preacher 
whose  eloquence  was  to  surpass  the  eloquence  of 
all  preachers  since  the  world  began;  sometimes 
I  was  to  be  an  inventor  of  more  wonderful 
machines  than  ever  had  been  invented  before; 
but  more  often  1  was  to  be  the  most  marvellous 
singer  the  world  had  ever  known ;  and  the  ' '  meet- 
ings" that  stand  out  in  my  memory  more  dis- 
tinctly than  any  other,  were  those  of  one  especial 
winter  in  my  fourteenth  year,  when  1  endowed 
myself  with  an  undreamed  of  gift  for  singing, 
that  electrified  everybody,  and  brought  the  world 
to  my  feet.  Why  I  pitched  on  singing  for  my 
day  dreams  1  cannot  imagine,  as  it  was  a  for- 
bidden worldliness  among  the  Quakers,  and  was 
something  1  scarcely  ever  heard,  either  in  public 
or  private;  and  I  was  myself  so  utterly  devoid  of 
any  musical  talent  that  during  my  whole  life  I 
have  not  been  able  to  sing  a  note,  or  even  to  dis- 
tinguish one  tune  from  another.  But  so  it  was; 
and  there  I  used  to  sit  on  the  bench  beside  my 
mother,  through  many  a  long  meeting,  outwardly 
a  demure  little  Quaker,  but  inwardly  a  great 
prima  donna,  (not  that  1  called  myself  that)  with 
my  whole  foolish  little  heart  swelling  and  burst- 
ing with  the  glory  of  my  triumphs  on  the  stage, 
which  however  was  a  place  I  had  never  even  so 
much  as  seen! 
Sometimes,  however,  my  conscience  would 


yS        The  Unselfishness  of  God 


not  permit  me  to  indulge  in  my  day  dreams,  and 
then  my  "meetings"  would  be  filled  with  futile 
struggles  against  wandering  thoughts,  or  with 
vain  efforts  to  resist  an  uncontrollable  desire  to 
sleep,  for  to  "sleep  in  meeting"  was  felt  by  all 
of  us  to  be  almost  a  crowning  disgrace. 

Whether  on  the  whole  those  long,  solemn 
meetings,  with  their  great  stretches  of  silence, 
and  with  sermons,  when  there  were  any,  that 
made  very  little  direct  appeal  to  me,  were  or 
were  not  a  valuable  part  of  my  religious  training, 
I  do  not  feel  prepared  to  say.  But  one  thing  is 
certain,  that,  whether  from  the  preaching  in  our 
meetings,  or  from  the  conversation  of  our  elders, 
or  from  the  atmosphere  around  us,  there  were 
certain  strong  impressions  made  upon  me  which 
stand  out  vividly  in  my  memory. 


VII 


QUAKER  GUIDANCE 

THE  strongest  impression  made  upon  my 
young  heart  was  the  paramount  privilege 
we  as  Quakers  enjoyed  in  our  l<nowledge 
of  the  "  perceptible  guidance  "  of  the  Holy  Spirit, 
and  the  vital  necessity  of  obedience  to  this  guid- 
ance. It  was  fully  believed  by  us  young  Friends 
that  our  "Society"  was  the  sole  depository  of 
this  knowledge;  and  although  it  was  for  the  most 
part  a  great  mystery  to  us,  yet  still  we  could  not 
help  feeling  a  certain  pride  in  such  a  distinctive 
possession.  That  it  was  regarded  by  the  Friends 
as  a  very  real  thing,  was  proved  by  the  fact  that 
anything  which  professed  to  be  the  result  of  this 
guidance  was  treated  with  the  most  profound 
respect  and  consideration.  If  even  a  child  could 
say  it  felt  a  Divine  "leading"  in  any  direction, 
that  leading  was  treated  with  loving  consider- 
ation by  the  older  Friends,  and,  unless  it  was 
manifestly  improper,  way  was  tenderly  made  for 
it  to  be  carried  out.  For  Friends  believed  their 
children  were  every  one  included  among  the 
lambs  of  the  flock,  and  had  the  same  privileges  of 
hearing  the  voice  of  the  Good  Shepherd  that 
their  parents  possessed. 
A  very  striking  illustration  of  this  reverence 
79 


8o         The  Unselfishness  of  God 


for  anything  that  was  felt  to  be  from  Divine 
guidance  occurred  two  hundred  years  ago  in  our 
own  family  history.  An  aunt  of  one  of  our 
great-grandfathers  was  a  certain  Elizabeth  Had- 
don,  who  was  the  daughter  of  a  wealthy  Friend 
named  John  Haddon,  living  in  Rotherhithe, 
now  a  suburb  of  London.  John  Haddon  had 
purchased  some  land  in  New  Jersey,  intending  to 
remove  there  with  his  family,  and  had  even  sent 
out  mechanics  who  had  built  a  suitable  house  and 
outbuildings.  But  meantime  circumstances  had 
made  it  necessary  for  him  to  remain  in  England. 
His  young  daughter  Elizabeth,  just  eighteen,  who 
believed  she  had  felt  a  call  to  work  in  New 
Jersey,  was  greatly  disappointed,  but,  as  she 
prayed  about  it,  she  seemed  to  hear  an  inward 
voice  telling  her  that  she  must  take  up  the  family 
burden  and  go  over  herself  to  the  New  World 
and  develop  the  property  there.  She  called  her 
family  together  and  told  them  of  her  impressions 
of  duty.  She  was  very  young,  and  the  country 
was  unsettled,  and  her  parents  were  frightened. 
But  they  were  staunch  Quakers,  and  they  had 
always  taught  their  children  an  implicit  obedience 
to  what  the  voice  of  the  Lord  might  require,  and 
they  did  not  dare  to  oppose  what  their  young 
daughter  felt  so  strongly  to  be  her  duty,  and, 
although  in  much  fear  and  trembling,  they  made 
arrangements  for  her  emigration. 

This  was  in  1701.  She  found  the  country  in  a 
very  rough  state,  but  lived  there  long  enough  to 
see  the  whole  neighbourhood,  largely  through 


Quaker  Guidance  81 

her  own  instrumentality,  revolutionized  into  a 
most  prosperous  community,  to  which  she  was 
for  many  years  an  untold  blessing.  The  town 
that  sprang  up  near  her  home  was  called  Haddon- 
field  after  her,  and  for  many  years  our  father  had 
a  country  house  not  far  off,  where  we  entered 
into  the  fruits  of  our  great-aunt's  labours. 

An  American  historian  in  relating  her  story 
says : — 

"Among  the  many  singular  manifestations  of 
strong  faith  and  religious  zeal,  connected  with 
the  settlement  of  this  country,  few  are  more  re- 
markable than  the  voluntary  separation  of  this 
girl  of  eighteen  from  a  wealthy  home  and  all  the 
associations  of  childhood,  to  go  to  a  distant  and 
unsettled  country  to  fulfill  what  she  considered  a 
religious  duty;  and  the  humble  self-sacrificing 
faith  of  the  parents  in  giving  up  their  beloved 
child  with  such  reverent  tenderness  for  the 
promptings  of  her  own  conscience,  has  in  it 
something  sublimely  beautiful,  if  we  look  at  it  in 
its  own  pure  light." 

This  absolute  independence  in  all  matters  of 
felt  duty  has  always  seemed  to  me  to  be  one  of 
our  greatest  Quaker  privileges.  It  left  every  in- 
dividual free  to  serve  God  in  the  way  that  seemed 
right,  without  the  often  kindly  meant  but  hinder- 
ing interference  of  those  around  them.  To  say 
simply,  "  I  feel  it  right  to  do  so  and  so,"  invari- 
ably silenced  all  ob)ections. 

Nor  was  this  only  the  case  in  spiritual  matters, 
but  in  earthly  matters  as  well,  and  it  gave  to  each 
individual  that  position  of  independence  which 


82         The  Unselfishness  of  God 


has  always  to  my  mind  seemed  one  of  the  most 
vital  of  human  needs.  And  I  look  upon  the 
sense  of  personal  ownership  engendered  by  all 
this,  as  one  of  the  most  priceless  of  all  the  gifts 
that  my  Quaker  inheritance  has  brought  me. 

1  remember  when  1  first  waked  up  to  the  in- 
justices of  the  position  of  women  in  the  outside 
world,  1  was  able  to  congratulate  myself  con- 
tinually that  it  was  so  much  better  among 
"Friends";  and  that  not  the  most  tyrannical 
"  man  Friend,"  even  if  he  wanted  to,  would  ever 
dare  to  curtail  the  liberty  of  his  womenkind,  if 
only  they  could  say  they  "felt  a  concern"  for 
any  course  of  action. 

To  interfere  between  any  soul  and  its  Divine 
Guide,  except  under  a  Divine  constraint,  was 
considered  by  the  Friends  to  be  one  of  the  grav- 
est wrongs  that  one  person  could  inflict  upon 
another;  and  in  all  my  experience  of  Quakerism 
in  my  young  days  I  have  no  recollection  of  its 
ever  having  been  done,  except  by  the  Elders  and 
Overseers.  A  Quaker  "concern"  was  to  my 
mind  clothed  with  even  more  authority  than  the 
Bible,  for  the  Bible  was  God's  voice  of  long  ago, 
while  the  "  concern  "  was  His  voice  at  the  pres- 
ent moment,  and,  as  such,  was  of  far  greater 
present  importance.  I  do  not  suppose  any  one 
ever  taught  me  definitely  that  this  was  the  case, 
but  the  whole  atmosphere  around  me,  and  the 
preaching  1  heard,  was  certainly  calculated  to  ex- 
alt the  "inward  voice"  and  its  communications 
above  all  other  voices,  and  to  make  us  feel  that, 


Quaker  Guidance  83 


since  God  spoke  to  us  directly,  we  need  not 
searcii  into  what  He  might  say  to  any  one  out- 
side of  our  sacred  fold. 

It  might  naturally  be  thought  that  this  liberty 
in  individual  guidance  would  have  led  into  ex- 
travagances, and  in  the  early  days  of  the  society 
this  sometimes  happened.  But  in  my  time  the 
Friends  safeguarded  their  members  from  this 
danger  by  requiring  all  "concerns"  or  "lead- 
ings" that  were  at  all  out  of  the  ordinary,  to  be 
brought  before  the  Elders  and  Overseers,  and 
judged  by  them  in  a  solemn  season  of  waiting 
upon  God  for  His  teaching.  And,  so  convinced 
were  all  Friends  that  the  collective  voice  of  the 
Holy  Spirit  in  a  meeting  was  of  more  authority 
than  a  private  voice  to  an  individual,  that  deci- 
sions arrived  at  under  such  circumstances  were 
always  accepted  as  final,  and  the  conscience  of 
the  individual,  whose  "leading"  was  set  aside, 
felt  itself  freed  from  the  burden.  It  was  an  ad- 
mirable safeguard,  and  during  all  my  years  of 
close  association  with  the  society  I  never  knew 
of  any  instance  of  serious  extravagance. 

Apart  from  this  teaching  of  the  perceptible 
guidance  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  nothing  very  defi- 
nite or  tangible  was  taught  us.  As  far  as  1  can 
remember  we  were  never  told  we  had  to  be 
"converted"  or  "born  again,"  and  my  own  im- 
pression was  that  these  were  things,  which 
might  be  necessary  for  the  "  world's  people,"  but 
were  entirely  unnecessary  for  us,  who  were 
birthright  members  of  the  Society  of  Friends, 


84        The  Unselfishness  of  God 


and  were  already  born  into  the  kingdom  of  God, 
and  only  needed  to  be  exhorted  to  live  up  to  our 
high  calling.  I  believe  this  was  because  of  one 
of  the  fundamental  principles  of  Quakerism, 
which  was  a  belief  in  the  universal  fatherhood  of 
God,  and  a  recognition  of  the  fact  that  Christ 
had  linked  Himself  on  to  humanity,  and  had  em- 
braced the  whole  world  in  His  divine  brother- 
hood, so  that  every  soul  that  was  born  belonged 
to  Him,  and  could  claim  sonship  with  the  same 
Father.  "  My  Father  and  your  Father,"  He  says, 
and  the  early  Friends  accepted  this  as  true,  and 
would  have  thought  it  misleading  therefore  to 
urge  us  to  become  what  we  already  were.  We 
were  always  preached  to  as  "lambs  of  the 
flock,"  and  as  only  needing  to  be  obedient  to  the 
voice  of  the  Good  Shepherd,  to  whom  we  al- 
ready belonged.  The  Friends  did  not  shut  their 
children  out,  but  instead,  with  loving  tenderness, 
shut  them  inside  the  heavenly  fold;  and  all  their 
teaching  was  to  this  effect. 

For  a  little  time,  in  my  Plymouth  brethren 
days,  I  looked  upon  this  as  a  dreadful  heresy; 
but  later  on  I  learned  the  blessed  fact,  stated  by 
Paul  to  the  heathen  idolaters  at  Athens,  that  we 
are  all,  the  heathen  even  included,  "God's  off- 
spring;" and  1  realized  that,  since  He  is  our  cre- 
ator, He  is  of  course  our  Father,  and  we  equally 
of  course  are  His  children.  And  I  learned  to 
thank  and  bless  the  grand  old  Quakers  who  had 
made  this  discovery,  since  their  teaching  made  it 
easy  for  me  to  throw  aside  the  limiting,  narrow- 


Quaker  Guidance 


85 


ing  ideas  I  had  at  first  adopted,  and  helped  me  to 
comprehend  the  glorious  fact  that  in  God  we  all 
"live  and  move  and  have  our  being,"  and  that 
therefore  no  one  can  shut  another  out. 


VIII 


QUAKER  "QUERIES" 

NEXT  in  importance  to  the  impression 
made  upon  my  young  mind  by  tiiis 
teaching  regarding  the  perceptible  guid- 
ance of  the  Holy  Spirit,  was  the  one  made  by 
"  Friends'  testimonies,"  as  they  were  called,  and 
the  "Queries"  that  were  founded  upon  them. 
These  "  Queries  "  were  a  series  of  questions  in 
regard  to  the  practice  of  Quakerism,  which  were 
solemnly  asked  and  answered  once  a  month  in 
Monthly  Meetings,  appointed  for  the  purpose  of 
transacting  the  business  of  the  society.  There 
were  eight  of  these  "Queries,"  and  they  con- 
tained a  splendid  code  of  morals,  calculated  to 
develop  a  people  of  unflinching  uprightness  and 
honesty  in  all  their  dealings  with  their  fellow- 
men,  and  of  a  grand  self-restraint  and  self-denial 
in  their  private  lives;  and,  much  as  I  chafed  at 
them  as  a  child,  1  have  never  been  able  to  forget 
the  lessons  they  taught,  and  often  to  this  day  find 
myself  guided  by  their  precepts. 

With  such  a  monthly  probing  of  conduct  as 
these  Queries  compelled,  it  was  almost  a  neces- 
sity that  a  high  standard  of  righteousness  should 
have  become  an  integral  part  of  a  Quaker's  life; 
86 


Quaker  "Queries"  87 


and  I  feel  it  to  have  been  an  invaluable  element 
of  my  own  religious  training. 

Back  of  these  Queries  there  was  a  body  of 
"Friends'  testimonies"  from  which  the  Queries 
had  arisen,  which  although  unwritten,  except  so 
far  as  they  were  expressed  in  the  Queries,  were 
absolutely  binding  upon  every  true  Friend.  1  have 
often  thought  that  they  were  in  reality,  though 
no  one  said  so,  our  Quaker  Ten  Commandments, 
which  we  had  put  in  the  place  of  the  Jewish 
ones.  I  certainly  believed  as  a  child  that  they 
were  in  fact  the  especial  commandments  that  had 
been  given  to  us  as  Quakers,  which  differentiated 
us  from  all  the  Christians  around  us,  and  made 
us  the  "  peculiar  people  "  we  were  proud  to  call 
ourselves.  They  were  many  of  them  very  strict 
and  severe,  and  to  an  outsider  must  often  have 
seemed  rather  painful;  but,  as  all  the  Quakers  i 
knew  had  been  brought  up  on  them  from  in- 
fancy, they  did  not  press  as  heavily  upon  us  as 
might  have  been  supposed.  But  they  certainly 
did  serve  to  keep  Quaker  feet  walking  in  a  nar- 
row way,  which  way  we  believed  to  be  the  actual 
"strait  gate  and  narrow  way"  spoken  of  in  the 
Bible  as  the  only  path  that  "leadeth  unto  life." 
Every  one  of  these  "testimonies"  had  been,  we 
were  devoutly  convinced,  directly  revealed  by 
the  Holy  Spirit  to  the  "early  Friends";  and 
consequently,  however  unreasonable  they  might 
otherwise  have  seemed  to  us,  we  young  Friends 
in  my  day  reverenced  them  as  the  very  oracles 
of  God. 


88        The  Unselfishness  of  God 


As  these  Queries  seem  to  have  almost  entirely 
fallen  into  the  background  among  the  Quakers  of 
late  years,  1  will  record  them  here,  as  a  true  ex- 
position of  the  Quakerism  of  my  young  days. 

"First  Query. — Are  all  our  religious  meetings 
for  worship  and  discipline  duly  attended;  is  the 
hour  observed;  and  are  Friends  clear  of  sleeping, 
and  of  all  other  unbecoming  behaviour  therein  ? 

"Second  Query. — Are  love  and  unity  main- 
tained amongst  you  ?  Are  tale-bearing  and  de- 
traction discouraged  ?  And  where  any  differ- 
ences arise,  are  endeavours  used  speedily  to  end 
them  ? 

"  Third  Query. — Are  Friends  careful  to  bring 
up  those  under  their  direction,  in  plainness  of 
speech,  behaviour  and  apparel;  in  frequently 
reading  the  Holy  Scriptures,  and  to  restrain 
them  from  reading  pernicious  books,  and  from 
the  corrupt  conversation  of  the  world?  And 
are  they  good  examples  in  these  respects  them- 
selves ? 

"Fourth  Query. — Are  Friends  careful  to  dis- 
courage the  unnecessary  distillation  and  use  of 
spirituous  liquors,  and  the  frequenting  of  taverns; 
to  avoid  places  of  diversion;  and  to  keep  in  true 
moderation  and  temperance  on  the  account  of 
marriages,  burials  and  all  other  occasions. 

"Fifth  Query. — Are  poor  Friends*  necessities 
duly  inspected,  and  they  relieved  or  assisted  in 
such  business  as  they  are  capable  of?  Do  their 
children  freely  partake  of  learning  to  fit  them  for 
business;  and  are  they  and  other  Friends'  chil- 
dren placed  among  Friends  ? 


Quaker  "  Queries  " 


89 


"Sixth  Query. — Do  you  maintain  a  faithful 
testimony  against  oaths;  an  hireling  ministry; 
bearing  arms,  training,  and  other  military  serv- 
ices; being  concerned  in  any  fraudulent  or  clan- 
destine trade;  buying  or  vending  goods  so  im- 
ported; or  prize  goods;  and  against  encouraging 
lotteries  of  any  kind  ? 

"Seventh  Query. — Are  Friends  careful  to  live 
within  the  bounds  of  their  circumstances,  and  to 
keep  to  moderation  in  their  trade  or  business? 
Are  they  punctual  to  their  promises,  and  just  in 
the  payment  of  their  debts;  and  are  such  as  give 
reasonable  grounds  for  fear  on  these  accounts, 
timely  laboured  with  for  their  preservation  or 
recovery  ? 

"Eighth  Query. — Do  you  take  due  care  regu- 
larly to  deal  with  all  offenders  in  the  spirit  of 
meekness,  without  partiality  or  unnecessary  delay, 
in  order  for  their  help;  and  where  such  labour  is 
ineffectual,  to  place  judgment  upon  them,  in  the 
authority  of  truth  ?" 

The  reading  of  these  Queries  in  our  Monthly 
Meetings  constituted  a  sort  of  monthly  confes- 
sional for  the  whole  society,  and  were  seasons  of 
solemn  self-examination  for  both  old  and  young. 
Each  separate  Meeting  belonging  to  the  "  Monthly 
Meeting"  sent  in  its  own  set  of  answers  for  this 
public  confessional,  and  the  consideration  of 
these  answers  was  called  the  "consideration  of 
the  state  of  society." 

"Our  meetings  have  all  been  duly  attended  by 
most  of  our  members,  but  some  Friends  have  not 
observed  the  hour." — "Mostly  clear  of  unbecom- 


90        The  Unselfishness  of  God 


ing  behaviour,  but  some  sleeping  has  been  ob- 
served."— "Friends  generally  are  careful  to  bring 
up  their  children  in  plainness  of  speech,  be- 
haviour, and  apparel,  but  more  faithfulness  in 
this  respect  is  desirable."  —  "Our  testimony 
against  oaths  and  a  hireling  ministry,  bearing 
arms,  being  concerned  in  any  clandestine  trade, 
and  against  encouraging  lotteries,  has  been  faith- 
fully maintained  by  all  our  members."  Such 
were  some  of  the  answers  that  linger  in  my 
memory. 

It  was  the  custom  after  each  Query  and  answer 
had  been  read,  for  a  time  of  silence  to  be  ob- 
served in  order  to  give  Friends  an  opportunity  to 
"  relieve  their  minds  "  of  any  message  that  might 
have  been  given  them  concerning  that  especial 
Query;  and  these  opportunities  were  generally 
times  of  great  searchings  of  heart  with  all  who 
were  present. 

As  I  remember  it,  the  one  Query  that  was 
preached  about  the  most  frequently  and  the 
most  fervently  was  the  Third,  concerning  the 
testimony  for  "plainness  of  speech,  behaviour, 
and  apparel,  and  against  the  vain  fashions  of  the 
world."  It  was  this  testimony  that  did  the 
most  to  make  Quakers  a  "peculiar  people,"  and 
that  caused  us  young  Quakers  the  worst  of  our 
heart  burnings,  i  remember  to  this  day  the  suf- 
ferings I  used  to  undergo  each  month  as  I  sat 
beside  my  mother  and  heard  this  Query  read  and 
preached  about.  My  constant  fear  was  lest  it 
should  make  her  more  strict  in  trying  to  keep  us 


Quaker  "Queries"  91 


from  the  "vain  fashions  of  the  world,"  which, 
in  spite  of  our  training,  possessed  a  fascination 
we  could  not  wholly  conquer.  As  the  Friend 
who  was  appointed  to  read  the  Queries  ap- 
proached this  especial  one,  I  used  to  do  my  best 
to  abstract  my  mind,  and  would  even  surrep- 
titiously stop  my  ears,  trying  to  cheat  myself 
into  thinking  that,  if  I  did  not  notice  it,  my 
mother  would  not  either.  But  alas!  as  I  recall 
those  days,  I  must  acknowledge  that  1  was 
always  doomed  to  disappointment,  for,  as  1  have 
said,  the  preaching  about  this  particular  Query 
was  the  most  frequent  and  the  most  fervent,  and 
in  the  end  1,  as  well  as  my  mother  was  always 
obliged  to  listen. 

Two  incidents  of  my  childhood,  connected 
with  this  Query,  come  up  very  vividly  before 
me. 

Our  mother  had  bought  us  some  white  china 
crape  shawls  with  lovely  long  fringes  that 
seemed  to  us  too  beautiful  for  words,  and  we 
wore  them  with  the  greatest  pride.  But  one 
day  she  came  home  from  a  meeting  where  the 
Queries  had  been  read  and  answered,  and  told 
us  she  had  felt  in  meeting  that  our  long  fringes 
were  too  "gay"  for  "Friends'  children,"  and 
she  believed  it  was  her  duty  to  cut  them  shorter. 
1  can  see  it  all  to-day,  as  she  carefully  spread  the 
shawls  out  on  a  large  table,  and  laid  a  yard- 
stick along  the  fringe  at  what  she  considered 
was  the  right  length,  and  proceeded  to  cut 
off  all  the  lovely  beautiful  extra  lengths.    It  was 


92         The  Unselfishness  of  God 

like  cutting  into  our  very  vitals,  and  1  remember 
well  how  we  pleaded  and  pleaded  that  the  fatal 
yardstick  might  be  slipped  down  just  a  little 
further.  Our  great  fear  was  that  our  fringes 
would  be  cut  shorter  than  the  fringes  of  similar 
shawls  that  had  been  purchased  at  the  same 
time  for  our  most  intimate  friends,  Hannah  and 
Jane  Scull,  who  were  a  little  gayer  than  our- 
selves. To  have  their  fringes,  even  so  much  as 
the  tenth  of  an  inch  longer  than  ours,  seemed  to 
us  a  catastrophe  not  to  be  borne.  I  do  not 
remember  how  it  turned  out  in  the  end,  but 
I  shall  never  forget  to  my  dying  day  the  agonies 
of  mind  we  went  through  in  the  process. 

Another  experience  about  dress  left  an  in- 
delible impression  on  my  mind.  The  shape 
of  sleeve  that  was  considered  "plain"  in  my 
day  was  what  are  called  leg-of-mutton  sleeves, 
and  the  sleeves  of  all  our  dresses  were  of  this 
orthodox  leg-of-mutton  shape.  But  some  be- 
nign influence,  what  it  was  we  never  under- 
stood, induced  our  mother  one  spring  to  let 
us  have  our  sleeves  made  a  little  in  the  fashion, 
which  happened  at  that  time  to  be  what  was 
called  Bishop  sleeves,  full  at  both  the  shoulder 
and  the  wrist.  The  fashion  was  for  very  large 
and  full  "Bishops"  and  ours  were  tiny  little 
ones,  but  they  were  real  "Bishops"  and  our 
pride  in  them  was  immense.  The  dresses  were 
our  new  spring  school  dresses,  of  a  brown  and 
white  striped  print,  calico,  we  called  it.  They 
were  finished  while  the  weather  was  still  very 


Quaker  "Queries"  93 


wintry-like,  but  so  great  was  our  desire  to  show 
ofT  our  fashionable  sleeves  to  the  astonished 
world,  that  nothing  would  do  but  we  must  put 
them  on  and  go  for  a  long  walk  without  any 
coats;  and  no  two  prouder  little  girls  were 
abroad  in  the  whole  world  that  morning  than 
Hannah  and  Sally  Whitall,  as  they  walked  along 
the  streets  of  Philadelphia  in  their  fashionable 
attire.  I  remember  our  younger  sister  Mary 
wanted  to  go  with  us,  but  her  sleeves  were  still 
leg-of-mutton,  and  we  felt  it  would  take  from 
the  full  effect,  if  one  member  of  our  party  should 
display  the  despised  sleeves,  and  we  made  her 
walk  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  way.  1  can  see 
her  longing  glances  across  the  street  now,  as  she 
admired  our  glory  from  afar.  However,  she  had 
her  revenge  not  long  after,  for  ruffled  panties 
(as  we  called  drawers  then)  coming  down  to  the 
feet,  had  come  into  fashion,  and  as  our  mother 
was  making  her  a  new  set,  they  were  made 
long  and  ruffled,  while  we  still  had  to  wear  our 
plain  hemmed  ones,  not  showing  below  our 
dresses.  And  this  time  she  also  went  out  to 
walk  to  show  her  new  panties,  but,  kinder  than 
we  had  been,  she  invited  us  to  accompany  her. 
1  am  sorry  to  say,  however,  that  the  old  Adam 
in  us  resented  her  favoured  condition  so  strongly, 
that  we  refused  to  walk  on  the  same  side  of  the 
street  with  her,  and  scornfully  crossed  over 
to  the  other  side,  leaving  her  to  walk  alone,  with 
all  the  glory  taken  out  of  her  beautiful  ruffled 
"panties"  by  our  cruel  scorn  and  unkindness. 


94        The  Unselfishness  of  God 


The  early  Friends,  in  order  to  testify  against 
the  foolish  changes  of  fashion  among  the 
"world's  people"  had,  as  far  as  possible,  ad- 
hered to  the  style  of  dress  that  was  being  worn 
when  they  took  their  rise,  and  in  a  very  few 
years  this  naturally  grew  peculiar,  and  finally  be- 
came a  sort  of  Quaker  uniform,  which  all  good 
Friends  felt  "led  "  to  adopt.  I  say  they  adhered 
to  the  first  style  as  far  as  possible,  because 
moderate  changes  were  inevitable  from  the  fact 
that  certain  styles,  when  they  ceased  to  be  fash- 
ionable, dropped  sooner  or  later  out  of  the 
market,  and  could  no  longer  be  easily  procured; 
and  also  because  the  views,  even  of  the  strictest, 
could  not  help  being  more  or  less  modified  by 
time  and  use. 

The  fact  was  that  their  "testimony"  as  to 
"plainness  of  apparel"  was  not  a  testimony 
against  or  for  any  special  style  of  dress,  but  it 
was  simply  a  testimony  against  following  the 
"vain  fashions  of  the  world";  and  by  the  time 
a  style  had  become  old-fashioned,  and  was 
going  out,  the  Quakers  would  be  prepared  to 
adopt  it. 

I  met  lately  in  some  extracts  from  an  old  diary 
the  following  curious  illustration  of  this.  In  the 
time  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  before  Quakers  arose, 
it  was  the  general  fashion  to  wear  green  aprons 
as  a  part  of  a  lady's  church-going  dress;  but  by 
the  time  the  Quakers  came  on  the  scene  this 
fashion  had  begun  to  die  out,  and  starched  white 
aprons  were  taking  the  place  of  green  in  the 


Quaker  "  Queries  "  95 


fashionable  world.  In  order  not  to  follow  the 
changing  fashions,  Friends  held  on  to  the  green 
aprons  for  their  go-to-meeting  dress,  and  their 
preachers  preached  against  the  fashionable  white 
aprons  as  being  of  a  "gay  and  polluting  colour." 
One  old  preacher,  it  is  recorded,  declared  in  one 
of  his  sermons,  that  the  starch  water  used  to 
stiffen  these  aprons  was  the  "devil's  water  with 
which  they  needed  to  be  sprinkled,"  and  warned 
his  hearers  against  its  polluting  use. 

Curiously  enough,  this  rooted  Quaker  objec- 
tion to  following  the  vain  fashions  of  the  world 
extended  even  to  many  useful  inventions  of 
which  one  would  have  supposed  the  practical 
good  sense  of  the  Friends  would  have  seen  the 
value.  1  remember  that  when  sewing  machines 
first  came  into  vogue  they  were  considered  by 
the  Friends  exceedingly  worldly.  And,  when  I 
had  made  up  my  mind  to  buy  one,  1  was  obliged 
to  make  my  purchase  in  secret,  and  to  hide  the 
machine  in  the  most  inaccessible  room  in  my 
house,  in  order  that  no  one  might  be  grieved 
with  my  worldliness.  Of  course  later  on,  when 
the  Friends  had  got  used  to  the  innovation,  sew- 
ing machines  were  to  be  seen  in  every  well- 
ordered  Quaker  household;  but  for  a  long  time  I 
went  about  with  a  haunting  sense  of  having 
fallen  from  grace,  because  of  the  worldly  thing  1 
had  purchased. 

The  standard  of  plainness,  therefore,  necessa- 
rily varied  from  one  generation  to  another.  But 
whatever  the  standard  might  be,  the  "  testi- 


96         The  Unselfishness  of  God 


mony"  against  the  vain  fashions  of  the  world 
continued  the  same,  and  each  generation  felt 
that  the  established  costume  of  their  day  was  of 
the  nature  of  a  Divine  ordinance,  especially 
patterned  in  Heaven  itself. 

This  conviction  of  the  sanctity  of  the  "  plain 
dress  "  arose  largely,  1  believe,  from  the  fact  that 
all  their  own  personal  religion  had  come  to  them 
through  this  channel.  The  newly  awakened 
Friend,  whether  young  or  old,  was  invariably 
confronted  with  the  question  of  "becoming 
plain; "  and  the  surrender  of  will  involved  in  giv- 
ing up  to  adopt  the  Quaker  uniform  always 
brought  such  peace  and  rest  of  soul,  that  it  was 
almost  inevitable  they  should  consider  the  put- 
ting on  of  the  "plain  dress "  as  being  the  procur- 
ing cause  of  the  blessing.  This  was  especially 
the  case  with  our  own  dear  father.  In  his  diary, 
under  date  of  1823  when  he  was  just  twenty- 
three  years  old,  he  writes: — 

"While  at  home  from  my  fifth  voyage  I  be- 
lieved it  right  to  adopt  the  plain  dress  and  lan- 
guage of  Friends.  While  under  the  conviction 
of  its  being  right,  and  fearing  I  should  lose  my 
situation  if  1  did  so,  1  met  with  Samuel  Bettle,  Sr., 
who,  without  knowing  the  distressed  state  of 
my  mind,  told  me,  if  1  was  faithful  to  what  I 
felt  to  be  right,  the  Lord  would  make  a  way  for 
me  where  there  seemed  no  way;  which  indeed 
He  did,  giving  me  favour  in  the  sight  of  my  em- 
ployer much  to  my  comfort.  Hearing  of  a  ship 
as  needing  a  chief  mate,  I  borrowed  a  plain  coat 
of  my  friend,  James  Cox,  my  own  not  being 


Quaker  "  Queries  "  97 


ready,  and  called  to  see  the  captain,  telling  him 
1  could  not  "  Mr."  and  "Sir"  him  as  was  com- 
mon. To  which  he  replied  kindly  that  it  would 
only  be  a  nine  days'  wonder,  and  at  once  en- 
gaged me  as  first  mate.  Thus  my  prayer  was 
answered  and  a  way  made  for  me  where  I  saw 
no  way.  Praised  forever  be  the  name  of  the 
Lord." 

This  was  the  turning  point  in  his  religious  life, 
and  it  was  followed  by  such  an  uplifting  of  soul, 
and  such  a  sense  of  the  love  of  God,  that  he  was 
never  able  to  dissociate  them,  and  all  his  life  be- 
lieved, that,  if  any  one  else  would  adopt  the  same 
dress,  the  same  blessing  would  follow.  1  believe 
he  would  freely  have  bestowed  a  "plain  coat" 
as  a  gift  upon  anybody  who  would  wear  one; 
and  nothing  ever  seemed  to  disturb  his  profound 
conviction  that  "plain  coats"  and  "plain  bon- 
nets" had  been  shaped  and  patterned  in  Heaven. 
He  even  assured  us  once  that  he  fully  believed 
that  the  armies  in  Heaven,  spoken  of  in  Rev. 
19:  14,  who  followed  the  King  of  kings  on  white 
horses,  all  had  on  "plain  coats!"  He  was  a 
member  of  the  Board  of  a  Quaker  college  near 
Philadelphia,  which  required  all  its  students  to 
wear  the  "  plain  "  straight  collared  coats.  But  in 
hot  summer  weather,  when  the  students  were 
obliged  to  wear  linen  or  seersucker  coats  on  ac- 
count of  the  heat,  their  thin  straight  collars  re- 
fused to  stand  up,  and  wilted  down  with  the 
heat.  The  question  came  before  the  Board  as 
to  whether,  under  such  circumstances,  they 
might  not  be  allowed  to  wear  turned  down  col- 


The  Unselfishness  of  God 


lars.  Some  of  the  Board  were  for  yielding,  but 
our  dear  father  would  not  listen  to  this  for  a  mo- 
ment, but  declared  that,  if  there  were  no  other 
way  of  making  their  collars  stand,  they  must 
put  whalebone  in  to  stiffen  them,  for  "  stand 
they  must."  1  believe  however  that  the  summer 
heats  were  too  much  for  even  his  stalwart  prin- 
ciples, and  he  was  at  last  forced  reluctantly  to 
consent  to  the  turned  over  collars. 

I  have  no  doubt  the  same  thing  occurs  in  other 
Denominations  besides  Friends.  They  have  their 
own  especial  forms  and  ceremonies,  which  are 
more  or  less  incumbent  upon  their  members,  sub- 
mission to  which  very  often  results  in  blessings 
of  peace  and  rest  of  soul  similar  to  those  the 
Friends  experienced  when  putting  on  the  "  plain 
dress;"  and,  like  the  Friends,  many  of  them  have 
no  doubt  supposed  these  forms  or  ceremonies  to 
be  the  procuring  cause  of  the  blessings,  and  have 
in  consequence  exalted  them  into  a  place  of  sanc- 
tity, and  have  even  believed  them  to  have  been 
ordained  and  patterned  in  heaven.  I  realized  this 
very  strongly  not  long  ago  when  attending  a  Ro- 
man Catholic  Mass  in  Italy.  I  was  inclined  to  be 
critical  over  the  gorgeous  robes  of  the  priests, 
saying  to  myself  that  the  Lord  could  not  possibly 
care  for  such  things,  when  it  flashed  into  my 
mind  that  after  all  there  was  no  radical  difference 
between  a  robe  of  crimson  and  gold,  and  a  black 
coat  with  a  straight  collar,  or  between  a  Sister  of 
Charity's  quaint  costume,  and  a  sugar-scoop  bon- 
net and  a  dove-coloured  shawl ;  and  I  saw  that  just 


Quaker  "  Queries  " 


99 


as  the  Quakers  of  my  childhood  had  been  sure 
that  their  "  plain"  clothes  were  pleasing  to  God, 
so  also  these  devoted  priests  were  sure  that  their 
gorgeous  robes  were  acceptable  in  the  Divine 
sight.  Each  party  believed  they  were  obeying 
the  Lord  in  regard  to  their  dress,  and  their  obe- 
dience to  what  they  believed  to  be  right  was  after 
all  the  essential  point. 

I  have  had  no  difficulty  since  then  in  feeling  ab- 
solute Christian  charity  towards  every  honest 
form  or  ceremony,  let  it  be  as  contrary  to  my 
own  ideas  as  it  may,  for  I  realize  that  it  is  true 
that  "the  Lord  seeth  not  as  man  seeth;  for  man 
looketh  on  the  outward  appearance,  but  the  Lord 
looketh  on  the  heart." 


IX 


THE  "SUGAR-SCOOP"  BONNET 

ONE  of  the  most  prominent  features  of 
the  "plainness  of  apparel  "of  my  day 
was  the  bonnet  worn  by  all  good  women 
Friends,  which,  from  its  shape,  we  young  people 
irreverently  called  a  " sugar-scoop,"  although  it 
often  seemed,  to  me  at  least,  that  we  committed 
a  sacrilege  in  daring  to  treat  the  sacred  bonnet  in 
such  a  fashion.  For  that  it  was  sacred  no  young 
Quaker  of  my  day  would  have  dreamed  of  deny- 
ing. A  late  writer,  dealing  with  a  little  later  date 
than  my  own,  says  concerning  it: 

"  To  one  brought  up  '  within  the  fold '  it  is  no 
light  matter  to  approach  so  awful  a  subject  as  the 
Quaker  bonnet.  There  was  a  solemnity  about  it 
that  was  born  of  terror.  Whether  it  presided  at 
the  head  of  the  'women's  meeting'  or  ventured 
in  winter  storms,  protected  in  its  satin  or  oilskin 
case  under  the  Friendly  umbrella,  or  even  lay 
alone  in  splendid  state  upon  the  bed  of  the  wel- 
come guest;  anywhere,  everywhere,  it  was  a 
solemn  thing. 

Why  this  bonnet  which  was  always  made  of  a 
very  delicate  light  silk,  and  was  exceedingly  ex- 

' "  The  Evolution  of  the  Quaker  Dress,"  by  A.  S.  Grum- 
mere. 


lOO 


The  "Sugar-Scoop"  Bonnet  loi 


pensive  and  difficult  to  make,  and  most  uncom- 
fortable to  wear,  should  have  been  considered 
"plain,"  while  a  simple  straw  bonnet  without 
trimming  which  would  cost  only  a  quarter  as 
much,  and  would  be  infinitely  more  comfortable, 
should  be  considered  "gay,"  is  a  mystery.  But 
so  it  v/as,  and  whenever  a  "plain  bonnet"  was 
spoken  of,  only  a  "sugar-scoop"  was  ever  meant. 

The  other  articles  of  a  woman  Friend's  "  plain 
dress"  in  my  day  were  a  silk  shawl  of  a  soft 
dove  colour  folded  over  a  plain  waisted,  low- 
necked,  dove-coloured  or  brown  dress,  with  folds 
of  thin  white  muslin  filling  up  the  neck  and 
crossed  over  the  bosom,  and  a  thin  muslin  cap  of 
the  same  shape  as  the  bonnet,  tied  under  the  chin 
with  soft  white  ribbons,  and  always  worn  both  in- 
doors, and  out  under  the  ' '  sugar-scoop. "  In  cold 
weather  they  had  large  dove-coloured  cashmere 
shawls  for  outdoors,  or  cashmere  Mother  Hub- 
bard cloaks  pleated  on  to  a  yoke,  with  a  silk-lined 
hood.  These  shawls  were  always  folded  with  a 
point  down  the  middle  of  the  back,  and  with 
three  accurate  folds  at  the  neck  immediately  over 
this  point,  held  by  a  stout  pin.  There  was  also 
a  pin  on  each  shoulder  to  hold  the  fullness  steady, 
skillfully  hidden  to  make  it  look  as  though  the 
fullness  held  itself,  and  the  shawl  fell  gracefully 
apart  in  front  to  reveal  the  crossed  handkerchief 
of  tulle  or  thin  muslin  that  was  crossed  over  the 
Quakerly  bosom. 

The  "plain  clothes"  for  the  men  were  a  cut- 
away coat  with  a  straight  clergyman's  collar,  and 


102       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


a  broad-brimmed  hat.  The  whole  costume  was 
very  quaint,  and,  for  the  women  Friends,  very 
becoming,  and  I  do  not  think  I  have  ever  seen 
sweeter  faces  anywhere  than  the  placid,  gentle 
faces  inside  these  caps  and  bonnets;  and  1  can- 
not but  feel  that  the  world  is  poorer  for  the 
disappearance  of  these  quaint  old  costumes. 

As  a  consequence  of  the  fact  that  all  Quakers 
both  young  and  old  were,  as  I  have  shown, 
treated  as  though  they  were  "in  the  fold,"  and 
were  therefore  never  exhorted  to  become  con- 
verted in  order  to  get  in,  the  only  thing  we  knew 
about,  as  indicating  a  change  in  any  one's  religious 
experience,  was  what  was  called  "  becoming 
serious"  or  "  becoming  plain,"  and  this  was  al- 
ways expressed  outwardly  by  the  adoption  of  the 
"plain  dress"  of  the  society. 

The  putting  on  of  this  "  plain  dress "  was 
looked  forward  to  by  us  young  people  as  an  in- 
evitable fate  that  awaited  all  Quaker  children,  but 
a  fate  that  was  to  be  deferred  by  every  known 
device  as  long  as  possible.  The  usual  time  for 
its  happening  in  Philadelphia  where  I  lived,  was 
at  the  spring  "Yearly  Meeting,"  which  occurred 
in  April,  and  at  which  time  we  all  came  out  in 
our  new  spring  clothes,  it  was  then  that  the  fate 
was  most  likely  to  descend  upon  its  victims,  and 
the  young  men  and  women  of  the  society,  who 
had  "  become  serious,"  would  feel  it  their  duty  to 
appear  at  "Yearly  Meeting"  in  the  sugar-scoop 
bonnets,  or  the  straight  collared  coats  and  broad- 
brimmed  hats,  that  were  the  outward  badge  of 


The  "Sugar-Scoop"  Bonnet  103 


their  inward  change.  I  remember  well  how 
those  of  us  upon  whom  the  fate  had  not  yet 
fallen,  used  to  go  to  the  first  meeting  of  the 
"  Yearly  Meeting  "  early,  and  sit  on  benches  where 
we  could  keep  a  good  outlook  on  every  one  who 
came  in,  and  watch  to  see  which  one  of  our 
friends  and  comrades  had  been  snatched  from 
our  ranks  to  wear  these  distinguishing  badges  of 
having  "become  serious."  Of  all  the  wrestlings 
and  agonizing  that  preceded  this  open  confession 
of  a  change  of  heart  we  were  only  dimly  aware, 
but  there  was  enough  solemnity  and  strangeness 
about  the  whole  thing  to  make  us  feel  that  hence- 
forth our  comrades  belonged  to  another  world 
from  ours.  And  when,  as  often  happened,  this 
adopting  of  the  peculiar  Quaker  garb  was  also 
accompanied  by  a  few  words  spoken  tremblingly 
in  some  Meeting  by  the  young  neophyte,  we  felt 
that  the  gulf  between  us  could  never  be  crossed 
until  we  too  became  the  victims  of  a  similar  fate. 

No  words  I  could  use  could  fully  express  the 
awful  solemnity  that,  to  my  young  mind  at  least, 
invested  this  fate.  To  "  put  on  a  plain  bonnet," 
as  it  was  expressed,  seemed  to  me  almost  as  much 
the  end  of  all  earthly  human  life  as  death  would 
be.  After  it,  one  could  never  again  live  as  other 
people  did.  If  one  was  young,  one  could  never 
have  any  more  fun,  for  it  was  evident  that  races 
could  not  be  run,  nor  trees  climbed,  nor  hay- 
mows scaled,  in  a  dove-coloured  "sugar-scoop 
bonnet."  If  one  was  older,  one  could  never 
care  for  earthly  pleasures  any  more,  but  must 


104       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


care  only  for  "Friends'  meetings"  and  "Friends' 
testimonies "  and  "  Friends'  religious  concerns," 
and  must  love  to  read  the  "Book  of  Discipline" 
and  Barclay's  "Apology"  and  "Friends'  Re- 
ligious journals;"  and  must  turn  one's  back  for- 
ever upon  all  that  was  pleasant  or  pretty  or  at- 
tractive in  life. 

It  can  easily  be  conceived  that  since  becoming 
serious  meant  inevitably  to  my  mind  the  putting 
on  of  this  awe-inspiring  bonnet,  it  loomed  before 
my  fun-loving  spirit  as  a  fate  to  be  unspeakably 
dreaded.  Somehow  1  had  gained  the  idea  that 
our  dear  mother,  in  order  faithfully  to  obey  the 
Query  about  bringing  up  her  children  in  "plain- 
ness of  apparel,"  intended,  when  each  one  of  her 
daughters  reached  the  age  of  fifteen,  to  make 
them  put  on  one  of  these  bonnets.  As  a  child 
she  had  herself  been  obliged  to  wear  one  almost 
from  babyhood.  But  even  her  carefully  trained 
young  heart  had  had  its  moments  of  rebellion, 
for  she  used  to  tell  us,  as  a  solemn  warning,  that 
when  she  was  nine  or  ten  years  old  the  girls  at 
school  made  such  fun  of  her  bonnet  that  she 
became  most  unwilling  to  wear  it,  but  no  en- 
treaties could  induce  her  parents  to  consent  to 
her  leaving  it  off.  One  morning,  on  her  way  to 
school,  as  she  was  crossing  a  lonely  bridge  over 
Woodbury  creek,  her  dislike  to  her  little  "plain 
bonnet"  grew  so  strong  that  she  took  it  off  and 
kicked  it  before  her.  All  day  the  deed  weighed 
heavily  on  her  conscience,  and  as  she  came  to 
that  bridge  on  her  return  home  from  school  in 


I 

The  "Sugar-Scoop"  Bonnet  105 


the  dusk  of  the  evening,  she  saw  a  dark  shadow 
at  a  little  distance  up  the  creek.  To  her  excited 
imagination  this  shadow  assumed  the  appearance 
of  a  threatening  figure  coming  towards  her  with 
a  fierce  aspect.  She  firmly  believed  it  was  the 
Devil  in  person  coming  to  snatch  her  to  himself 
because  of  her  wickedness,  and,  filled  with  ter- 
ror, she  flew  home  as  fast  as  her  trembling  legs 
would  carry  her,  promising  in  her  childish  heart 
never  again  to  rebel  against  her  "  plain  bonnet." 
We  children  were  profoundly  impressed  with 
this  story,  and  always  regarded  that  especial 
bridge  with  the  most  superstitious  awe;  and  I 
can  remember  very  well  many  a  time  racing 
across  it  in  breathless  speed,  scarcely  daring  to 
breathe  for  fear  I  should  evoke  the  awful  spectre. 

In  the  face  of  this  experience  of  our  mother's,  I 
never  for  a  moment  dreamed  that  I  could  escape 
the  fate  of  the  "plain  bonnet,"  and  the  horror 
with  which  as  a  child  I  watched  my  years  creep- 
ing on  one  by  one  towards  the  fatal  age  of 
fifteen  could  not  be  described.  But  fortunately 
before  I  had  reached  that  age,  the  subtle  modifi- 
cation of  ideas  that  affected  the  whole  Society 
almost  unconsciously,  had  affected  our  mother  as 
well,  and  the  dreaded  "  plain  bonnets "  never 
appeared  on  the  scene.  We  had  instead  the 
simplest  little  straw  cottage  bonnets  obtainable, 
but,  compared  with  the  "  plain  bonnets '"  we  had 
so  dreaded,  they  seemed  so  gay  and  worldly  to 
our  Quaker  imagination,  that  we  felt  quite  like 
"fashionable  ladies,"  when  we  walked  out  with 


lo6       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


them  on  our  heads,  although  I  am  convinced 
now  that  we  must  have  looked  like  the  primmest 
little  Quaker  maidens  possible. 

When  the  fate,  as  1  call  it,  of  the  "  plain 
bonnet"  fell  upon  any  young  Friend,  it  was 
generally  welcomed  by  the  older  Friends  with  a 
loving  tenderness  that  made  "the  cross"  less 
hard  to  bear;  but  sometimes  it  would  descend 
upon  a  member  of  a  family  to  whom  it  was 
most  unwelcome.  For  there  were  degrees  of 
plainness  among  us,  some  being  "  strict Friends, 
or  what  were  oftener  called  ' '  solid  "  Friends,  while 
others,  who  indulged  more  in  the  vain  fashions  of 
the  world,  were  called  ' '  gay  "  Friends.  In  one  such 
"gay  "  family  which  I  knew,  there  was  a  bright, 
lively  daughter  named  Elizabeth,  of  about  my 
own  age,  who  went  through  in  her  early  girl- 
hood what  seems  to  me,  in  looking  back  upon  it, 
a  tragic  experience.  One  day  when  the  Query 
about  "plainness  of  apparel"  had  been  read,  and 
the  usual  pause  had  followed,  a  travelling  Minister 
arose  and  said  in  an  impressive  manner  that  she 
believed  the  Lord  had  given  her  a  message  for 
some  young  heart  present,  who  was  called  upon 
to  take  up  the  cross  and  put  on  the  "  plain  dress." 
For  some  reason  the  young  Elizabeth  was  pro- 
foundly impressed,  and  an  inward  voice  seemed  to 
tell  her  that  the  message  was  for  her.  She  burst 
into  a  flood  of  tears,  and  at  the  close  of  the  meet- 
ing one  of  the  Elders,  noticing  her  emotion,  made 
her  way  to  her  side,  and  placing  her  hand  upon 
her  shoulder  said  solemnly,  "  Precious  child,  1  be- 


The  "Sugar-Scoop"  Bonnet  107 


lieve  the  Lord  has  spoken  to  thee.  Mayest  thou 
be  obedient  to  the  heavenly  vision."  This  con- 
firmed the  impression  in  the  young  Elizabeth's 
heart,  and  she  went  home  bowed  down  with  an 
awful  sense  of  a  Divine  call  which  she  felt  she 
dared  not  resist. 

But  then  began  a  fearful  conflict.  She  knew 
her  family  would  utterly  disapprove,  and  she  felt 
sure  they  would  not  give  her  the  money  to  pur- 
chase the  necessary  articles  for  making  the  change 
of  dress  that  she  felt  was  required  of  her.  She 
was  afraid  and  ashamed  to  tell  any  one  of  what 
she  was  going  through,  and  at  last  she  decided 
she  must  try  and  make  a  "  plain  dress  "  for  her- 
self. She  saved  every  penny  of  her  allowance, 
and  little  by  little  gathered  enough  to  purchase 
the  cheapest  materials  she  could  find,  and  began 
at  night  alone  in  her  room,  after  every  one  had 
gone  to  bed,  to  make  with  infinite  labour  and 
pains  the  required  costume.  She  dared  not  ask 
for  any  instructions  nor  any  patterns,  and  night 
after  night,  with  tears  and  sighs,  she  worked  at 
her  unaccustomed  task,  until  finally,  in  a  rough 
and  imperfect  fashion,  the  poor  little  costume  was 
finished,  and  the  day  came  when  she  had  to  lay 
aside  her  "worldly"  clothes,  and  appear  before 
her  family  dressed  in  the  cap  and  handkerchief 
and  little  drab  shawl  of  the  elderly  Friends. 
What  this  cost  her  she  would  never  tell  me,  nor 
could  she,  even  in  middle  age,  speak  of  the  re- 
ception she  met  with  from  her  horrified  family, 
without  tears  of  profound  pity  for  the  martyrdom 


lo8       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


she  underwent.  But  she  said  that,  whether  she 
had  done  right  or  wrong,  she  had  at  least  been 
faithful  to  what  she  believed  to  be  her  duty,  and 
that  this  had  brought  her  such  infinite  peace,  and 
the  radical  change  in  her  life  had  been  of  such 
lasting  benefit  to  her  character,  that  she  never 
wanted  to  lay  it  aside,  and  until  the  day  of  her 
death  she  still  wore  the  same  style  of  costume 
she  had  adopted  in  such  anguish  of  spirit  as  a 
girl. 

Perhaps  an  extract  from  my  diary,  shortly  after 
my  awakening  at  sixteen,  may  give  a  little  insight 
into  the  working  of  these  scruples  upon  the  sen- 
sitive conscientious  heart  of  another  young  girl 
about  my  own  age.  She  was  a  very  especial 
friend,  and  was  my  confidante  on  all  religious 
matters. 

Under  date  of  nth  mo.  13,  1849,  1  find  the 
following:  — 

"  A.  has  been  spending  a  week  with  me,  and  I 
do  not  know  when  1  have  enjoyed  myself  more. 
The  spiritual  communion  between  us  was  per- 
fect. 1  do  not  think  we  concealed  any  of  our 
feelings  from  each  other.  She  told  me  of  the 
mental  suffering,  suffering  greater  than  she  could 
have  believed  possible  to  bear,  which  preceded 
the  making  known  of  God's  will  in  her  soul,  and 
of  the  anguish  of  spirit  when  that  will  was  made 
known.  She  believed  it  was  required  of  her  to 
give  up  immediately  all  her  gay  dress,  to  burn 
her  breastpins  and  her  gold  thimble,  and  many 
articles  of  clothing,  and  even  her  dresses.  It  was 
a  great  trial,  it  seemed  to  her  so  like  waste,  and 
human  nature  shrank.    And  there  was  a  still 


The  "Sugar-Scoop"  Bonnet  109 


greater  trial.  She  had  done  a  large  picture  in 
mono-chromatic  work,  which  her  parents  had 
had  framed  and  hung  in  their  parlour,  and  which 
they  greatly  admired.  She  felt  she  must  take 
this  picture  and  burn  it  also  with  the  other 
things,  frame  and  all.  She  knew  how  grieved 
her  parents  would  be,  and  how  silly  it  would 
look  to  her  sister  and  brother,  and  the  conflict 
was  very  great.  But  the  reproofs  of  her  Divine 
Guide  were  so  heartrending  that  at  last  she  could 
bear  it  no  longer,  and  submitted.  Her  father  and 
mother  and  sister  were  at  Cape  May  at  the  time, 
or  she  said  she  could  not  have  done  it.  When 
they  returned  she  told  them;  and  then,  she  said, 
it  was  impossible  for  her  to  describe  the  holy, 
heavenly  calm  which  followed.  She  scarcely  felt 
as  if  she  was  on  earth.  It  seemed  that  she  should 
never  sin  again,  and  the  reward  was  worth  far 
more  than  the  suffering.  How  nobly  she  has 
acted.  I  fear  1  should  have  refused  to  obey,  and 
would  have  borne  any  suffering  rather  than  have 
made  so  great  sacrifices.  And  now  she  has  con- 
sented to  put  on  a  plain  bonnet — a  'sugar-scoop,' 
as  I  call  them,  but  though  it  is  a  great  change  and 
will  be  much  talked  about,  she  scarcely  dreads  it, 
so  true  does  she  find  it,  that  God  can  make  hard 
things  easy  and  bitter  things  sweet.  Could  /  take 
up  the  cross  as  she  has  done  ?" 

That  1  personally  must  have  been  more  or  less 
affected  by  this  experience  of  my  friend  is  shown 
by  an  entry  in  my  diary  shortly  afterwards. 

"Eleventh  month,  17,  1849.  Sometimes  to-day 
when  1  have  been  thinking  about  it,  it  has  seemed 
to  me  almost  as  if  it  would  be  right  for  me  to  put 
on  a  plain  sugar-scoop  bonnet;  but  I  hardly  dare 
believe  that  so  great  a  favour  would  be  granted 


no       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


to  me.  It  is  strange,  even  to  myself,  that  I  have 
longed  so  for  the  time  to  come  when  I  might 
make  this  sacrifice,  though  in  truth  it  would  be 
no  sacrifice.  People  generally  feel  so  averse  to 
these  bonnets,  and  I  too  did  perhaps  a  year  ago, 
but  now  1  long  for  it  so  earnestly  that  I  fear  1 
cannot  judge  calmly  and  clearly  about  it;  and 
gladly  as  1  would  make  this  and  any  other  sacri- 
fice which  God  might  require,  1  know  how  awful 
it  would  be  to  run  before  1  was  sent,  and  to  do 
what  God  had  not  required.  ...  It  often 
seems  to  me  that  I  cannot  wait  any  longer,  that  I 
must  do  something  to  gain  the  salvation  of  my 
soul;  and  if  God  requires  nothing,  I  must  make 
offerings  of  my  own.  And  yet,  that  I  dare  not 
do.  Oh,  I  feel  that  I  could  love  the  cross  and 
even  the  shame  if  only  God  would  lay  them  upon 
me;  but  patience  and  quiet  waiting  are  my  duties 
now." 

It  is  very  evident  from  this  extract  that  the 
martyr  spirit  had  been  aroused  in  me,  and  that  I 
wanted  to  do  something  hard  for  the  sake  of  my 
religion.  But  these  feelings  soon  passed  off,  and 
the  "sugar-scoop"  bonnet  I  both  dreaded  and 
longed  for  never  adorned  my  head.  I  was  such 
a  healthy  young  creature,  and  was  so  full  of 
animal  spirits,  and  so  absorbed  in  the  joys  of  my 
outward  life,  that  my  conscience  was  always 
very  easily  quieted;  and  for  the  most  part  I 
passed  my  girlhood  unconscious  of  anything  but 
those  ordinary  claims  to  the  commonplace  every- 
day duties  of  life,  which  my  training  and  the 
compelling  Quaker  atmosphere  around  me  made 
almost  my  second  nature. 


X 


THE  "  HAT  TESTIMONY  " 

PART  of  the  testimony  to  "plainness  of 
apparel "  was  a  testimony  against  what 
was  called  "hat  honour."  The  Quakers 
felt  that,  since  uncovering  the  head  was  the  out- 
ward signification  of  their  adoration  towards 
God,  it  was  not  therefore  right  or  fitting  that  it 
should  be  given  to  man.  Barclay  says,  "  He  that 
uncovereth  his  head  to  the  creature,  what  hath  he 
reserved  for  the  Creator?"  Moreover,  since  it 
was  considered  a  mark  of  especial  respect  to  cer- 
tain people  or  certain  places  to  take  off  the  hat, 
Friends,  who  believed  that  all  people  were  equally 
worthy  of  respect  because  all  were  children  of 
one  Father,  and  all  places  were  equally  holy  be- 
cause God's  presence  was  everywhere,  bore  testi- 
mony to  this  belief  by  refusing  to  take  off  their 
hats  to  any  person  or  in  any  place,  except  as 
comfort  might  require.  Not  even  on  entering  a 
place  of  worship  might  this  rule  be  relaxed,  since 
to  take  off  the  hat  under  such  circumstances  would 
seem  to  imply  that  God  was  more  present  inside 
that  house  than  outside  in  the  open  air,  and  this 
was  entirely  contrary  to  the  most  fundamental 
Quaker  ideas. 
Prof.  Wm.  James  in  his  most  valuable  book, 


112 


The  Unselfishness  of  God 


"The  Varieties  of  Religious  Experience,'" 
speaking  of  the  early  Quakers  and  their  pecul- 
iarities, says: — "Many  of  these  peculiarities 
arose  from  their  determination  to  have  nothing 
to  do  with  shams  or  pretences,  but  to  be  true 
and  sincere  in  all  their  dealings  with  God  and 
with  their  fellow-men."  George  Fox  believed 
that  it  was  shown  to  him  by  the  Lord  that  many 
of  the  conventional  customs  of  society  were  a  lie 
and  a  sham.   He  says: — 

"When  the  Lord  sent  me  into  the  world,  He 
forbade  me  to  put  off  my  hat  to  any,  high  or 
low;  and  I  was  required  to  'thee'  and  'thou' 
all  men  and  women,  without  any  respect  to  rich 
or  poor,  great  or  small.  And  as  1  travelled  up 
and  down,  1  was  not  to  bid  people  'Good- 
morning'  or  'Good-evening';  neither  might  1 
bow  or  scrape  with  my  leg  to  any  one.  .  .  . 
Oh!  the  scorn,  heat,  and  fury  that  arose!  Oh! 
the  blows,  punchings,  beatings,  and  imprison- 
ments, that  we  underwent  for  not  putting  off  our 
hats  to  men!  .  .  .  But  blessed  be  the  Lord, 
many  came  to  see  the  vanity  of  that  custom 
of  putting  off  hats  to  men,  and  felt  the  weight 
of  Truth's  testimony  against  it." 

The  whole  body  of  the  followers  of  George 
Fox  received  these  revelations  as  made  to  him 
for  their  guidance  as  well  as  for  his  own,  and 
renounced  the  worldly  customs  he  condemned, 
as  a  sacrifice  to  Truth,  and  as  the  means  of 

* "  The  Varieties  of  Religious  Experience,"  a  study  in  hu- 
man nature,  by  Wm.  James,  LL.  D.,  published  by  Longmans, 
Green  &  Co, 


The  "Hat  Testimony"  113 

making  their  actions  more  perfectly  in  accord 
with  the  spirit  they  professed;  and,  until  my 
time,  this  renunciation  still  continued,  although  I 
dare  say  many  who  made  it  had  very  vague 
ideas  as  to  the  why  and  wherefore  of  such 
peculiarities. 

Some  Friends  in  my  young  days  even  went  so 
far  as  to  look  upon  wearing  the  hat  on  all 
possible  occasions,  even  at  meals,  as  a  sort  of 
religious  duty.  On  one  occasion  a  young  man  I 
knew  was  walking  with  an  "  Elder "  along  the 
streets  of  Wilmington,  Delaware,  and  the 
"Elder"  was  speaking  to  him  about  the  im- 
portance of  supporting  Friends'  testimonies  on 
every  occasion,  and  among  other  things  spoke  as 
follows : — 

"I  have  noticed,  my  dear  young  friend,  with 
great  satisfaction,  that  thou  art  careful  not  to 
take  off  thy  hat  when  meeting  thy  friends  in  the 
street,  nor  to  remove  it  when  entering  the  meet- 
ing house  until  thou  hast  taken  thy  seat.  But  I 
see  room  for  even  greater  faithfulness  in  this 
respect,  and  I  feel  free  to  tell  thee  that  I  believe 
it  is  right  for  me  to  wear  my  hat  at  all  times,  ex- 
cept when  I  am  in  bed.  1  put  it  on  the  first 
thing  on  rising  in  the  morning,  nor  do  I  feel 
at  liberty  to  remove  it  until  I  have  clothed  myself 
in  my  night  garment  the  last  thing  before  getting 
into  my  bed  at  night." 

This  wearing  of  the  hat  was  very  often  a 
source  of  much  conflict  and  testing  to  such 
Quakers  as  were  obliged,  either  socially  or  on 
account  of  business,  to  enter  the  presence  of 


114       The  Unselfishness  of  God 

those  who  demanded  this  mark  of  respect.  In 
the  old  Friends'  journals  there  are  many  ac- 
counts of  the  suffering  caused  by  this  "hat 
testimony."  In  the  Journal  of  Thomas  Ellwood, 
the  friend  of  Milton,  who  became  convinced  of 
Friends'  views,  he  tells  of  his  father's  violent 
antipathy  to  this  "testimony,"  and  says: — 

"The  sight  of  my  hat  upon  my  head  when 
entering  his  presence  made  him  so  angry,  that 
running  upon  me  with  both  hands,  he  first 
violently  snatched  off  my  hat  and  threw  it  away; 
and  then  giving  me  some  buffets  on  the  head,  he 
said,  Sirrah,  get  you  up  to  your  chamber." 

Another  day  he  tells  how  he  went  to  the 
dinner  table  with  his  hat  on : — 

"As  soon  as  I  came  in,  I  observed  by  my 
father's  countenance  that  my  hat  was  still  an 
offence  to  him;  but  when  I  was  sitten  down, 
and  before  I  had  eaten  anything,  he  made  me 
understand  it  more  fully  by  saying  to  me,  'If 
you  cannot  content  yourself  to  come  to  dinner 
without  your  Hise  upon  your  head  (so  he  called 
my  hat)  pray  rise  and  go  take  your  dinner  some- 
where else.'  Upon  those  words  1  arose  from  the 
table,  and  went  into  the  kitchen,  where  I  stayed 
until  the  servants  went  to  dinner,  and  then 
sat  down  contentedly  with  them." 

Many  years  after  Thomas  Ellwood's  experi- 
ence, a  wealthy  English  Friend,  Joseph  John 
Gurney,  relates  his  own  experience  in  1810.  He 
says : — 


The  "Hat  Testimony"  115 


"I  was  engaged  long  beforehand  to  a  dinner 
party.  For  three  weeks  before  1  was  in  agitation 
from  the  knowledge  that  I  must  enter  the 
drawing-room  with  my  hat  on.  From  this  sac- 
rifice, strange  and  unaccountable  as  it  may  seem, 
1  could  not  escape.  In  a  Friend's  attire  and  with 
my  hat  on,  I  entered  the  drawing-room  at 
the  dreaded  moment,  shook  hands  with  the  mis- 
tress of  the  house,  went  back  into  the  hall, 
deposited  my  hat  and  returned.  1  went  home  in 
some  degree  of  peace.  1  had  afterwards  the 
same  thing  to  do  at  the  bishop's.  The  result 
was  that  1  found  myself  a  decided  Quaker,  was 
perfectly  understood  to  have  assumed  that  char- 
acter, and  to  dinner  parties  except  in  the  family 
circle,  I  was  asked  no  more." 

Later  still  our  own  dear  father  had  also  some- 
thing to  undergo  in  this  respect.  On  one 
occasion  when  he  was  hoping  to  be  made  cap- 
tain of  an  important  ship,  and  was  to  make  his 
application  to  the  owners,  he  went  through 
great  conflict  of  mind  because  he  felt  it  his  duty 
to  enter  their  presence  with  his  hat  on,  and 
he  feared  that  this  would  prejudice  them  against 
him.  But  he  was  steadfast  to  what  he  believed 
to  be  his  religious  duty,  and  had  a  firm  faith 
that  the  Lord  would  prosper  him  in  so  doing. 
He  says  in  his  diary: — 

"Some  of  my  friends  thought  my  plain  dress 
and  language  would  stand  in  my  way,  but  I  told 
them  to  wait  and  see  if  1  did  not  secure  the 
position  by  the  blessing  of  God,  to  whom  1  refer 
all  my  success  in  life.  The  ship  'New  Jersey' 
was  launched  on  the  first  of  twelfth  month, 


ii6       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


1824,  and,  on  the  third,  Whitton  Evans,  the 
owner,  conferred  on  me  the  command." 

In  reading  a  most  interesting  book  lately 
called  "  The  Testament  of  Ignatius  Loyola," 
1  was  much  interested  in  finding  that  this  old 
saint  of  the  sixteenth  century  shared  in  many  of 
these  early  Quaker  scruples.  He  says  of  himself 
that  his  custom  had  been  in  addressing  people  to 
omit  all  titles  such  as  "Your  Lordship,"  or 
"Your  Reverence,"  devoutly  holding  this  sim- 
plicity to  have  been  the  usage  of  Christ  and  His 
Apostles.  Also  he  tells  how  he  was  tempted, 
for  fear  of  the  consequences,  to  relax  this  rule  in 
the  case  of  a  certain  captain,  and  says  that, 
directly  he  recognized  this  to  be  a  temptation,  he 
thought,  "Since  so  it  is,  I  will  not  call  him  your 
Lordship,  nor  make  him  any  reverence,  nor  will 
I  pull  off  the  cap  from  my  head." 

In  fact  in  all  ages  of  Christianity  one  of  the 
ways  in  which  an  especial  devotedness  has 
manifested  itself  has  been  in  peculiarities  of 
dress  and  address,  and,  except  in  the  especial 
form  it  took,  the  early  Friends  were  not  singular 
in  this  respect.  But,  contrary  to  many  other 
bodies  of  Christians,  they  also  had  an  especial 
testimony  against  all  bright  colours,  which  for 
some  occult  reason  were  considered  to  be 
worldly.  Browns  and  drabs  were  unworldly, 
and  most  of  our  clothes  rang  the  changes  on 
these  two  colours.  Sometimes  a  little  green  was 
allowed,  and  curiously  enough  a  dark  purple 
might  now  and  then  be  indulged  in,  but  red  or 


The  "Hat  Testimony"  117 

blue  or  pink  or  yellow  were  entirely  forbidden 
as  being  very  gay.  I  even  knew  some  very 
conscientious  Friends  who  did  not  feel  at  liberty 
to  have  scarlet  geraniums  in  their  gardens,  or  a 
vase  of  scarlet  flowers  in  their  drawing-rooms. 

After  1  had  become  an  acknowledged  religious 
teacher,  people  in  spiritual  trouble  often  came  to 
me  for  help.  Among  the  rest  there  was  one 
young  Friend  with  a  very  scrupulous  conscience, 
who  came  one  day  greatly  troubled  about  scarlet 
geraniums.  It  appeared  that  she  lived  in  one 
side  of  a  pair  of  semi-detached  houses  in  the 
suburbs  of  Philadelphia,  with  a  little  garden  in 
front  of  both  houses,  containing  an  oval  flower 
bed  belonging  to  both,  which  she  and  her  neigh- 
bour in  the  other  half  took  turns  each  spring  in 
filling  with  flowers.  This  year  it  was  her  turn, 
and,  wishing  to  please  her  neighbour,  she  had 
consulted  her  as  to  what  flowers  they  should 
have.  The  neighbour  expressed  a  preference  for 
scarlet  geraniums,  and  my  friend  was  about  to 
order  them,  when  a  sudden  scruple  seized  her 
against  allowing  such  gay  flowers  to  adorn  the 
garden  in  front  of  her  house.  She  struggled  and 
prayed  about  it,  and  the  more  she  prayed  the 
louder  seemed  the  inward  voice  telling  her  it 
would  not  be  right  for  her  to  have  scarlet  gera- 
niums. But  how  to  explain  the  matter  to  her 
neighbour,  who  knew  nothing  about  Friends,  she 
could  not  tell,  and  she  was  in  great  distress,  and 
came  to  me  for  help. 

1  have  always  found  that  there  is  nothing 


ll8       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


more  difficult  to  combat  than  scruples,  and,  al- 
though I  tried  very  hard  to  convince  my  poor 
perplexed  friend  that  there  might  be  other 
matters  in  the  Christian  life  more  important 
than  the  colour  of  the  flowers  in  our  gar- 
dens, and  that  perhaps  the  Lord  would  be 
more  pleased  by  courtesy  and  kindness  to  her 
neighbour,  than  by  any  rigid  rule  as  to  the  colour 
of  flowers,  which  colour  after  all  was  of  His 
own  creation,  and  could  not  therefore  be  dis- 
pleasing to  Him,  it  was  all  in  vain;  and  at  last  I 
was  obliged  to  give  her  a  piece  of  advice,  to 
which  1  rather  objected,  and  this  was  to  "  ask 
Josiah."  Josiah  was  her  husband,  and  1  knew  he 
had  a  fair  amount  of  good  common  sense,  and, 
although  I  did  not  as  a  general  thing  approve  of 
letting  husbands  decide  things  for  their  wives,  1 
felt  it  was  in  this  case  almost  a  necessity.  And 
my  opinion  was  justified,  for  "Josiah"  wisely 
said  he  would  take  the  burden  of  the  scarlet 
geraniums  on  his  shoulders,  and  he  felt  sure  the 
Lord  would  not  be  displeased  to  see  in  front  of 
their  house  flowers  which  He  Himself  had  made. 

Of  course  in  the  very  nature  of  things,  modi- 
fications of  these  extreme  views  were  bound  to 
creep  in,  and  1  have  seen  in  my  lifetime  gradual 
changes,  which  as  a  child  1  should  have  thought 
it  blasphemy  even  to  imagine.  As  the  young 
people  of  my  generation,  to  whom  these  old  tes- 
timonies were  nothing  more  than  mere  "tradi- 
tions of  the  elders,"  and  not  at  all  personal  con- 
victions of  their  own,  grew  to  maturity,  they 


The  "Hat  Testimony"  119 


insensibly  dropped  them,  and  the  different  Yearly 
Meetings  gradually  grew  accustomed  to  changes 
that  would  once  have  bowed  them  to  the  earth 
with  shame  and  sorrow. 

English  Friends,  as  far  as  I  can  recollect,  were 
the  first  to  yield;  but  the  different  American 
Yearly  Meetings,  all  except  ours  in  Philadelphia, 
were  not  far  behind.  We  in  Philadelphia  held 
fast  to  our  old  customs  as  long  as  it  was  possible, 
but  even  we  had  to  give  way  at  last. 

One  of  my  sisters  had  married  and  settled  in 
Baltimore  Yearly  Meeting,  which  was  a  Meeting 
that  had  accepted  these  changes  far  more  rapidly 
than  we  had,  and  was  considered  by  us  in  Phila- 
delphia to  be  lamentably  "gay."  My  sister  had 
however  taken  with  her  the  Philadelphia  spirit, 
and,  as  her  large  family  of  daughters  grew  up, 
she  tried  hard  to  keep  them  to  the  Philadelphia 
standard  of  plainness.  But  it  was  all  in  vain, 
one  innovation  after  another  crept  in,  and  she 
found  herself  powerless  to  prevent  it.  Fortu- 
nately she  was  blessed  with  a  delicious  sense  of 
humour,  and  even  in  the  midst  of  her  struggles 
after  plainness,  she  could  not  help  seeing  the 
funny  side.  She  came  to  me  one  day  to  tell  me 
of  her  difficulties,  and  to  ask  advice,  and  when 
she  had  laid  it  all  before  me,  she  suddenly  jumped 
up  with  a  roguish  twinkle  in  her  eye,  and,  hold- 
ing up  one  foot  in  the  air,  she  said,  "Now, 
Hannah,  please  to  tell  me  where  it  will  be  safe 
for  me  to  put  my  foot  down.  At  one  time  I  put 
it  down  at  overskirts,  but  had  to  take  it  up  again; 


120       The  Unselfishness  of  God 

then  I  put  it  down  at  artificial  flowers  in  the 
cliildren's  hats,  and  again  I  had  to  lift  it;  then  I 
put  it  down  at  rings  on  their  fingers,  and  again  it 
had  to  be  lifted;  and  now  1  do  not  want  to  put  it 
down  again  until  1  can  be  sure  that  I  will  not 
have  to  take  it  up.  Does  thee  think,  Hannah," 
she  asked  with  a  comically  sober  countenance, 
"that  I  might  safely  venture  to  put  it  down  at 
nose  rings  ?"  This  was  too  much  for  my  grav- 
ity, and  1  burst  into  a  laugh  which  my  sister 
could  not  help  joining,  and  somehow  the  air 
seemed  cleared,  and  she  decided  that  she  could 
no  longer  engage  in  the  fruitless  effort  to  impart 
Philadelphia  ideas  into  Baltimore,  but  would  ac- 
cept the  inevitable  modifications  that  could  not 
fail  to  come,  even  in  such  a  conservative  body  as 
Friends. 

The  simple  truth  was,  as  I  have  shown,  that 
the  aim  of  the  Quakers  was  to  avoid  following 
the  "vain  fashions  of  the  world,"  and  they  only 
adopted  a  new  style  when  it  had  become  old  and 
was  passing  away,  and  Baltimore  Friends  got 
ready  to  do  this  a  little  sooner  than  Philadelphia 
Friends.  One  of  my  nieces  from  Baltimore  tells 
me  that  she  can  remember  well  going  to  Phila- 
delphia once  to  attend  a  party  of  her  Philadel- 
phia first  cousins,  and  feeling  horribly  worldly 
and  wicked  because  her  dress  was  made  more  in 
the  fashion  than  theirs. 

How  little  all  this  can  be  understood  by  the 
young  Quakers  of  the  present  day!  But  how 
tremendously  real  it  all  was  to  us. 


XI 


"PLAINNESS  OF  SPEECH" 

THE  "plainness  of  speech"  referred  to 
in  tlie  Third  Query  meant  primarily  the 
use  of  "  thee  "  and  "  thou  "  to  a  single 
person  instead  of  the  customary  "you";  and  it 
was  this  "testimony"  that,  in  conjunction  with 
the  testimony  about  "plainness  of  apparel,"  es- 
pecially marked  us  off  as  a  peculiar  people.  To 
say  "you"  to  a  single  person,  whether  to  a 
Friend  or  to  an  outsider,  was  felt  to  be  the  ex- 
treme of  insincerity  and  worldliness,  and  never 
once,  until  I  was  married,  did  I  dare  to  transgress 
in  this  respect.  Of  course  it  made  it  very  diffi- 
cult for  us  to  mingle  much  with  the  outside 
world,  since  they  would  be  likely  to  stare  and 
laugh  at  our  quaint  language. 

The  reason  for  this  testimony  was  no  doubt  to 
be  found  in  the  absolute  sincerity  of  the  early 
Quakers,  who  felt  it  to  be  dishonest  to  use  a 
plural  pronoun  to  a  single  individual;  and  also  in 
the  fact  that,  when  they  started,  it  was  the  cus- 
tom of  the  world  to  say  "you "to  a  superior, 
and  to  say  "  thee  "  and  "  thou  "  only  to  inferiors, 
and  the  Quakers,  who  believed  all  men  to  be  free 
and  equal,  and  who  believed  this  in  a  very  prac- 

121 


122       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


tical  way,  could  not  brook  such  distinctions,  and 
felt  it  right  to  address  ail  classes  alilce. 

Those  "early  Friends"  were  democrats  in 
every  fibre  of  their  beings.  And  this  was  be- 
cause of  their  profound  conviction  that  of  one 
blood  God  had  made  all  the  nations  of  the  earth, 
and  that  all  were  equally  His  children.  It  was  a 
grand  foundation  upon  which  to  build  their 
superstructure  of  morals,  and  it  accounts  for 
many  things  which  might  otherwise  seem  to 
have  been  foolish  fads  and  fancies. 

In  Thomas  Ellwood's  autobiography  he  gives 
an  account  of  the  various  things  he  felt  called 
upon  to  give  up  when  he  was  convinced  of  Quaker 
views,  and  among  them  we  find  the  following 
reference  to  this  matter  of  the  plain  language. 

"Again  the  corrupt  and  unsound  form  of 
speaking  in  the  plural  number  to  a  single  person, 
you  to  one  person  instead  of  thou  to  one,  which 
last  manner  of  speech  has  always  been  used  by 
God  to  men,  and  by  men  to  God,  as  well  as  one 
to  another,  from  the  oldest  records  of  time,  till 
corrupt  men  for  corrupt  ends,  in  later  and  cor- 
rupt times,  to  flatter,  fawn  and  work  upon  the 
corrupt  nature  in  men,  brought  in  that  false  and 
senseless  way  of  speaking  jvom  to  one,  which  has 
since  corrupted  the  modern  languages,  and  hath 
greatly  debased  the  spirits  and  depraved  the 
manners  of  men; — this  evil  custom  I  had  been  as 
forward  in  as  others,  and  this  I  was  now  called 
out  of  and  required  to  cease  from. 

"These  and  many  more  evil  customs  which 
had  sprung  up  in  the  night  of  darkness  and  gen- 
eral apostasy  from  the  truth  and  true  religion. 


"Plainness  of  Speech"  123 


were  now,  by  the  inshining  of  this  pure  ray  of 
divine  light  in  my  conscience,  gradually  discov- 
ered to  me  to  be  what  I  ought  to  cease  from, 
shun,  and  stand  a  witness  against." 

So  strongly  was  this  testimony  as  to  the  plain 
language  pressed  upon  us,  that  during  all  my 
childhood  I  felt  it  would  have  been  the  height  of 
insincerity  and  worldliness  to  say  "you"  to  a 
single  person;  it  seemed  to  me  one  of  the  "gay- 
est" things  I  could  have  done.  And  even  when 
I  became  a  woman,  and  began  to  go  more  into 
the  world,  and  found  that  there  were  good  and 
true  Christians  who  did  not  hesitate  to  use  the 
forbidden  word  in  their  intercourse  with  one 
another,  I  still  found  it  very  difficult  to  frame  my 
Quaker  lips  to  utter  it.  Gradually  however  this 
difficulty  vanished;  and  now,  after  seventy  years, 
the  "thee  "  and  "  thou  "  have  become  to  me  only 
the  language  of  intimate  friendship,  and  come 
to  me  instinctively  and  almost  unconsciously  the 
moment  a  friend  really  finds  the  way  to  my 
heart.  In  fact  I  judge  of  the  state  of  my  feelings 
towards  a  person  by  this  test,  and  when  I  find 
myself  addressing  them  as  "thee"  and  "thou" 
I  know  1  have  begun  to  love  them.  And  many 
of  my  friends,  who  have  had  no  connection  with 
the  Quakers,  have  caught  the  habit  from  me,  and 
have  themselves  adopted  the  same  dear  words  in 
our  intercourse.  My  beloved  Frances  Willard 
was  one  of  these,  and  she  and  I  always  thee'd 
and  thou'd  each  other  for  many  years  before  her 
death. 


124       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


The  same  writer  from  whom  I  quoted  before, 
tells  in  "  A  Boy's  Religion  "  how  he  felt  as  a  boy 
in  regard  to  this  "  plainness  of  speech."  He 
says: — 

"I  said  'thee'  and  'thy'  to  everybody,  and  I 
would  fully  as  soon  have  used  profane  words  as 
have  said  '  you  '  or '  yours '  to  any  one.  1  thought 
only  'Friends'  went  to  Heaven,  and  so  I  sup- 
posed that  the  use  of  'thee'  and  'thy'  was  one 
of  the  main  things  which  determined  whether 
one  would  be  let  in  or  not.  Nobody  ever  told 
me  anything  like  this,  and  if  1  had  asked  any  one 
at  home  about  it,  1  should  have  had  my  views 
corrected.  But  for  a  number  of  years  this  was 
my  settled  faith. 

"  I  pitied  the  poor  neighbours  who  would  never 
be  let  in,  and  I  wondered  why  everybody  did 
not  'join  the  meeting'  and  learn  to  say  'thee' 
and  'thy.'  I  had  one  little  Gentile  friend  whom 
I  could  not  bear  to  have  '  lost,'  and  I  went  faith- 
fully to  work  and  taught  him  'the  plain  lan- 
guage,' which  he  always  used  with  me  until  he 
was  ten  or  twelve  years  old,  when  the  strain  of 
the  world  got  too  heavy  upon  the  little  fellow!" 

Another  "testimony  "  connected  with  "plain- 
ness of  speech,"  which  was  similarly  the  out- 
come of  the  Quaker  democracy,  was  against  the 
use  of  "Mr."  or  "Mrs."  or  "Miss"  in  speaking 
to  or  of  a  person.  These  titles  were  considered 
to  be  a  disobedience  to  the  command  of  our  Lord 
in  Matt.  23:  10,  "Neither  be  ye  called  masters, 
for  one  is  your  master,  even  Christ."  Moreover 
no  genuine  Quaker  could  consent  to  give  a  title 
to  a  rich  man  that  was  refused  to  a  poor  man; 
consequently  they  used  their  Christian  names, 


"  Plainness  of  Speech  "  125 


without  any  prefix,  to  all  alike;  and  always 
spoke  of  one  another  as  Thomas,  or  Samuel,  or 
Abigail,  or  Elizabeth,  as  the  case  might  be.  (We 
had  no  Reginalds,  or  Bertrands,  or  Ethels,  or  Eve- 
lyns, among  us  in  those  days!)  Where  a  differ- 
ence in  age  would  seem  to  demand  a  little  less 
familiarity,  young  people  were  expected  to  use 
the  whole  name,  as  Thomas  Wistar,  Abigail 
Evans,  Samuel  Settle,  Elizabeth  Pitfield,  and  so 
on.  This  especial  testimony  was  often  very  in- 
convenient when  dealing  with  the  "world's  peo- 
ple," and  it  caused  many  awkward  dilemmas. 
Our  dear  father  was  very  strict  in  regard  to  this 
matter,  and  could  never  be  induced,  no  matter 
how  inconvenient  it  might  be,  to  use  the  gay 
"  Mr."  or  "  Mrs."  I  remember  well  the  fun  we 
sometimes  had,  after  we  were  grown  up,  over 
his  ingenious  methods  of  extricating  himself 
from  difficulty  when  he  did  not  know  the  first 
name  of  any  one.  He  used  to  substitute  for  Mr. 
or  Mrs.  the  word  "  Cummishilamus,"  and  would 
say  for  instance  "Cummishilamus  Coleman" 
said  or  did  so  and  so.  When  however  he  had 
to  write  the  address  on  a  letter,  he  could  not  of 
course  use  this  word,  and  then  he  would  turn  to 
one  of  us  and  say,  with  a  merry  twinkle  of  his 
dear  eyes, — "  Come,  Han,  thee  has  no  scruples, 
so  thee  may  write  the  Mr.  or  Mrs.  on  this  letter." 

"Plainness  of  speech"  also  forbade  our  greet- 
ing our  friends  with  good-morning  or  good- 
evening,  or  saying  good-bye  when  parting  from 
them.    Good-bye  was  believed  to  be  a  corrup- 


126       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


tion  of  God  be  with  you,  and,  since  God  was 
always  with  you,  it  was  a  sort  of  unbelief  to  ex- 
press a  wish  that  He  might  be.  And  to  say 
good-morning  or  good-evening,  which  was  a 
form  of  wishing  you  might  have  a  good  morn- 
ing or  a  good  evening,  was  to  express  a  doubt 
of  the  fact,  known  to  every  Quaker,  that  your 
mornings  and  your  evenings  must,  in  the  order 
of  Divine  Providence,  always  be  good.  1  grew 
up  with  a  distinct  feeling  that  it  was  very  gay 
and  worldly  to  use  these  expressions,  and  that 
the  right,  or  in  other  words  the  "  plain  "  thing  to 
do  was  to  greet  my  friends  with,  "  How  art 
thou?"  or  "How  does  thee  do? "and  to  part 
from  them  with  the  simple  word  "  Farewell." 
Though  why  "  Farewell "  was  any  more  truthful 
than  good-bye,  even  if  good-bye  did  mean  God 
be  with  you,  1  have  never  been  able  to  under- 
stand. 

In  perfect  consistence  with  the  Quaker  idea  of 
the  absolute  equality  of  all  human  beings  in  the 
sight  of  God,  "  plainness  of  speech"  forbade  us 
to  give  the  title  of  Saint  to  any  of  our  departed 
fellow-Christians,  and  we  were  never  allowed  to 
use  it,  even  as  a  prefix.  We  never  for  instance 
spoke  of  the  Gospels  as  the  Gospel  according  to 
St.  Matthew,  or  St.  Mark,  or  St.  Luke,  or  St. 
John,  but  always  said,  "The  Gospel  according  to 
Matthew,"  or  Mark,  or  Luke,  or  John.  I  saw 
lately  in  an  old  diary  kept  by  a  Friend  in  the 
seventeenth  century  an  account  of  one  very  con- 
scientious Friend  who  felt  a  stop  against  using 


"Plainness  of  Speech"  127 


the  prefix  saint  even  in  tlie  names  of  places  or 
streets,  and  wlio  had  great  difficulty  at  one  time 
in  finding  St.  Mary  Axe,  because  she  dropped  the 
Saint,  and  asked  for  it  only  as  "Mary  Axe 
Street,"  which  no  one  understood.' 

As  a  testimony  against  idol  worship  we  were 
forbidden  to  call  the  months  of  the  year  and  the 
days  of  the  week  by  their  heathen  names,  but 
were  taught  to  keep  to  the  "  simplicity  of  truth  " 
by  calling  them  by  numbers,  as  for  instance, 
first  month,  second  month,  or  first  day,  second 
day,  etc.  This  was  so  universally  observed  in 
my  circle  that  1  do  not  think  it  ever  entered  my 
head  to  use  the  heathen  names,  and  I  remember 
I  was  greatly  shocked  when  I  came  to  England 
in  1873  to  find  that  English  Friends  had  given  up 
the  practice  of  using  the  numbers,  and  had  gone 
back  to  the  "  heathen  "  names,  and  for  a  while  I 
could  hardly  bring  myself  to  feel  they  were  really 
Friends  at  all.  And  even  now,  when  I  date  my 
letters  with  these  "  heathen  "  names,  I  always 
feel  somehow  as  though  1  were  making  a  sort  of 
forbidden  excursion  into  the  "gay  world." 

>  Friends'  Examiner,  ninth  month,  1902. 


XII 


FRIENDS'  "TESTIMONIES"  AGAINST 
FICTION,  MUSIC  AND  ART 


NOTHER  point  brought  up  in  this  same 


Third  Query,  which  caused  us  great 


X  JLtrouble  was  contained  in  the  question 
whether  Friends  were  careful  to  bring  up  their 
children  in  "frequently  reading  the  Holy  Scrip- 
tures, and  to  restrain  them  from  reading  per- 
nicious books."  All  fiction  of  every  kind  was 
considered  by  the  Friends  of  those  days  to  be 
"pernicious,"  and  on  this  point  our  mother  was 
very  strict,  and  we  were  not  allowed  to  read  even 
the  most  innocent  and  select  Sunday-school 
stories.  As  to  novels,  the  very  word  was  felt  to 
be  wicked,  and  to  this  day  I  never  use  it  with- 
out a  momentarily  instinctive  feeling  of  lawless- 
ness, as  if  I  were  deliberately  doing  something 
wrong. 

As  we  grew  older  the  line  was  naturally  less 
strictly  drawn;  and  when  we  became  old  enough 
to  take  the  guidance  of  our  lives  a  little  more  into 
our  own  hands,  we  would  sometimes  snatch  a 
fearful  joy  from  some  story  book  loaned  to  us  by 
one  of  our  school  friends.  One  of  my  most 
vivid  recollections  is  of  such  an  occasion,  which 
was  made  all  the  more  vivid  to  me  because  it  was 


128 


Friends'  "Testimonies"  129 


the  first  time  I  had  dared  to  partake  openly  and 
boldly  of  the  forbidden  fruit. 

It  was  one  "First  Day"  afternoon  when  there 
seemed  to  be  nothing  going  on,  I  had  borrowed 
a  book  from  one  of  my  schoolmates  which  she 
had  told  me  was  "  lovely,"  and  I  took  this  book, 
and  a  plate  of  apples  and  gingerbread,  and 
stretched  myself  on  the  outside  of  my  bed  to 
read  and  eat  at  my  leisure. 

The  story  I  read  that  day,  under  these  delight- 
ful circumstances,  seemed  to  give  me  the  nearest 
approach  to  perfect  bliss  of  anything  1  had  ever 
before  experienced,  and  it  remains  in  my  memory 
as  one  of  the  happiest  days  of  my  life.  The 
book  was  "The  Earl's  Daughter,"  by  Grace 
Aguilar,  and  to  my  young  American  and  Quaker 
mind  an  Earl  was  more  like  an  archangel  than  a 
man,  and  to  be  an  Earl's  daughter  was  almost 
akin  to  being  a  daughter  of  heaven.  And  to  this 
day,  in  spite  of  all  the  disillusions  that  life  has 
brought  me  about  earls  and  their  daughters,  the 
old  sense  of  grandeur  that  filled  my  soul  with 
awe  on  that  First  Day  afternoon  so  long  ago, 
never  fails  to  come  back  for  at  least  a  moment, 
when  earls  and  countesses  are  mentioned  in  my 
presence. 

But  although  I  enjoyed  this  and  other  stories 
intensely,  it  was  always  with  an  uneasy  con- 
science, and  it  took  me  fifty  years  to  get  rid  of 
the  feeling  that  to  read  anything  fictitious  was  to 
commit  a  sin.  My  diary  is  full  of  the  conflicts  I 
went  through  on  account  of  this,  and,  as  1  read 


130       The  Unselfishness  of  God 

them  over,  I  cannot  but  feel  a  real  pity  for  the 
hungry,  ignorant  young  soul  that  was  so  tor- 
mented by  the  constant  tendency  to  make  a  sin 
out  of  a  perfectly  innocent  recreation.  The  thing 
that  at  last  brought  me  deliverance  was  a  sudden 
recognition  of  the  fact  that  our  Lord  Himself  con- 
stantly used  parables,  which  were  only  another 
name  for  stories,  to  illustrate  and  enforce  His 
teaching,  and  that  therefore  fiction  was  not  in 
itself,  as  1  had  always  thought,  a  synonym  for 
sin,  but  that  its  sinfulness  depended  entirely  upon 
the  sort  of  fiction  it  was;  and  that  often  fiction 
might  be  found  to  be  an  invaluable  aid  to  virtue. 
But  I  have  known  many  Friends  who  have  been 
tormented  by  scruples  on  this  point  up  to  old  age. 

Music  was  another  thing  against  which  the 
Friends  of  my  day  had  a  very  strong  testimony. 
In  a  book  of  Discipline,  published  in  Philadelphia 
in  1873,  1  have  found  the  following  passage  in  re- 
gard to  it,  which  gives  the  Quaker  idea  concern- 
ing it. 

"We  would  renewedly  caution  all  our  mem- 
bers against  indulging  in  music,  or  having  instru- 
ments of  music  in  their  houses,  believing  that  the 
practice  tends  to  promote  a  light  and  vain  mind, 
and  to  disqualify  for  the  serious  thoughtfulness, 
which  becomes  an  accountable  being,  hastening 
to  his  final  reckoning.  .  .  .  The  spirit  and 
language  of  the  discipline  forbid  the  use  of  music 
by  Friends,  without  any  exception  in  favour  of 
that  called  sacred,  and  in  order  to  produce  har- 
monious action  on  this  subject  throughout  the 
subordinate  meetings,  the  yearly  meeting  in- 


Friends'  "Testimonies"  131 


structs  them  that  those  members  who  indulge  in 
the  use  of  music,  or  who  have  musical  instru- 
ments in  their  houses,  bring  themselves  within 
the  application  of  this  second  clause  of  the  Disci- 
pline, viz. :  '  And  if  any  of  our  members  fall  into 
either  of  these  practices,  and  are  not  prevailed 
with,  by  private  labour  to  decline  them,  the 
monthly  meeting  to  which  the  offenders  belong 
should  be  informed  thereof,  and  if  they  be  not 
reclaimed  by  further  labour,  so  as  to  condemn 
their  misconduct  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  meet- 
ing, it  should  proceed  to  testify  our  disunity  with 
them.'"  1873. 

So  strictly  was  the  Discipline  obeyed  in  this  re- 
spect that  I  do  not  remember  in  my  young  days 
a  single  individual  in  our  select  circle  who  owned 
any  sort  of  musical  instrument,  and  above  all  a 
piano,  which  was  considered  the  gayest  of  the 
gay.  And  when  it  chanced  that  I  found  myself 
in  a  strange  room  containing  a  piano,  1  always 
felt  as  if  I  were  treading  the  very  borders  of  hell. 
For  many  years  after  I  was  a  woman  I  never 
heard  any  music  anywhere  that  I  did  not  have  a 
secret  half  delicious  sensation  of  tasting  forbidden 
fruit.  Even  singing  or  whistling  were  frowned 
down  upon.  I  remember  once  when  a  party  of 
young  Quakers  were  all  together  at  Newport  for 
a  summer  holiday,  a  dear  old  Friend  called  them 
into  his  room,  and  told  them  solemnly  that  he  had 
been  very  much  grieved  to  hear  some  of  them 
whistling  in  the  garden  the  day  before,  and  he 
hoped  they  would  not  so  transgress  Friends'  tes- 
timonies again. 


132       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


That  the  Discipline  in  this  matter  was  no  dead 
letter  is  proved  by  the  fact  that  when  I  was  older 
and  this  testimony  was  more  or  less  losing  its 
power  over  the  less  "concerned"  members,  I 
knew  of  several  instances  where  Friends,  who, 
though  otherwise  exemplary,  were  not  strict  in 
the  matter  of  music,  were  actually  turned  out  of 
membership  for  having  a  piano  in  their  houses. 
And  as  late  as  1865  when  we  had  presented  our 
son  Frank  with  a  cottage  organ  (we  did  not  dare 
to  let  it  be  a  piano,  as  we  felt  organs  were  for 
some  reason  "plainer"  than  pianos),  we  were 
obliged  to  hide  it  in  one  of  the  top  rooms  of  our 
house,  in  order  to  spare  the  feelings  of  our  Quaker 
relations.  1  never  shall  forget  my  surprise  when 
1  first  waked  up  to  the  fact  that  musical  instru- 
ments were  not  only  sanctioned  in  the  Bible,  but 
that  we  were  actually  commanded  to  use  them. 
In  reading  the  Psalms  one  day  I  could  hardly  be- 
lieve my  eyes  when  I  came  across  Psalm  150  and 
read,  "Praise  ye  the  Lord.  .  .  .  Praise  Him 
with  the  sound  of  the  trumpet,  praise  Him  with 
the  psaltery  and  harp.  Praise  Him  with  the  tim- 
brel and  dance:  praise  Him  with  stringed  instru- 
ments and  organs."  1  never  heard  any  Friend 
explain  how  they  got  over  this. 

"Plainness"  in  my  day  also  excluded  pictures 
everywhere,  except  in  books.  No  good  Quakers 
would  have  any  pictures  on  their  walls,  nor  did 
they  feel  free  to  have  their  pictures  taken.  Even 
daguerreotypes,  when  they  came  in,  were  con- 
sidered "gay"  by  all  the  really  good  Friends.  1 


Friends'  "Testimonies"  133 


believe  they  had  an  idea  that  pictures  of  oneself 
might  tend  to  vanity.  And  for  some  occult  rea- 
son it  seemed  to  be  felt  that  pictures  or  statuary 
were  dangerous,  as  offering  a  temptation  to  idol- 
atry. 1  certainly  grew  up  believing  that  it  was 
wicked  to  go  to  picture  galleries,  or  to  look  at  a 
stntue.  And  I  remember  well,  when  1  was  about 
seventeen,  breaking  loose  from  all  the  traditions 
of  my  life,  and  going  with  a  beating  heart,  as 
though  on  some  perilously  wicked  excursion,  into 
the  Academy  of  Fine  Arts  in  Philadelphia.  There 
was  a  marble  group  there  of  Hero  and  Leander, 
and  I  am  afraid  Leander  had  not  many  clothes  on, 
and  I  can  see  myself  now,  standing  and  looking 
at  it  with  my  heart  in  my  mouth,  and  saying  to 
myself,  "I  suppose  now  I  shall  go  straight  to 
hell,  but  I  cannot  help  it.  if  I  must  go  there,  I 
must,  but  I  will  look  at  this  statue."  No  words 
can  express  what  a  daring  sinner  1  felt  myself  to 
be;  and  1  remember  distinctly  that  I  was  quite 
surprised  to  find  myself  safely  outside  that  Acad- 
emy, standing  unharmed  in  Broad  Street,  without 
having  experienced  the  swift  judgments  of  an 
offended  Creator. 

I  can  see  that  marble  group  vividly  even  to  this 
day,  far  more  vividly  than  any  statuary  1  have 
ever  seen  since;  and  although  I  do  not  suppose 
it  was  at  all  what  would  be  called  good  art  now- 
adays, yet  to  me  it  has  always  lived  in  my  mem- 
ory as  the  acme  of  all  art,  for  it  was  my  emanci- 
pation into  the  hitherto  absolutely  unknown  art 
world.    Nothing  dreadful  happened  to  me  from 


134       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


looking  at  this,  and  I  gradually  gained  courage 
for  more,  until  at  last  I  learned  that  a  gift  for  art 
was  as  much  a  Divine  bestowment  as  a  gift  for 
mathematics,  and  as  such  it  could  not  be  wrong 
to  develop  and  exercise  it.  And  gradually  the 
Friends  also  have  seemed  to  learn  this,  and  those 
old  scruples  against  art  and  music  have  almost 
entirely  vanished  from  their  midst. 

Another  testimony  included  in  "  plainness  of  ap- 
parel "  in  my  young  days  was  one  against  beards. 
It  happened  that  when  Friends'  customs  began  to 
crystallize,  smooth  faces  were  universal;  and,  as 
a  consequence,  with  the  Friends'  idea  of  not  fol- 
lowing the  changing  fashions,  when  beards  be- 
gan to  be  fashionable,  Quakers  kept  on  with  their 
smooth  faces.  As  the  fashion  for  beards  became 
more  insistent,  the  Quakers  took  a  firmer  and 
firmer  stand,  until  insensibly,  without  any  real 
reason  for  it  that  1  ever  heard,  it  developed  into  a 
"religious  testimony";  and  when  1  was  born 
into  the  Society  it  was  one  of  the  most  stringent. 
I  remember  vividly  the  first  time  1  saw  a 
"preacher"  wearing  his  beard.  He  was  a  visit- 
ing Friend  from  England,  where  they  were  less 
strict,  and,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  1  had  a  great 
reverence  for  English  Friends,  his  beard  seemed 
to  me  so  evidently  the  mark  of  the  evil  one,  that 
I  felt  it  almost  a  sin  to  listen  to  his  preaching.  In 
several  "strict"  Meetings  this  same  preacher  was 
refused  entrance  to  the  "gallery"  because  of  his 
beard;  and  1  can  remember  well  the  great  con- 
cern expressed  by  the  Philadelphia  Elders  over 


Friends'  "Testimonies"  135 


this  sad  evidence  of  the  "gradual  encroachments 
of  a  worldly  spirit  in  London  Yearly  Meeting." 

This  testimony  against  beards  is  shared,  1  be- 
lieve, though  probably  on  different  grounds,  by 
the  Roman  Catholic  priests,  and  also  by  High 
Church  clergymen  of  the  Church  of  England. 
But  the  Friends  meanwhile  have  dropped  it,  along 
with  many  others  of  the  strict  testimonies  of  my 
childhood.  They  still  practice  great  moderation 
in  their  dress  and  address,  and  in  the  furnishing 
of  their  houses,  and  the  ordering  of  their  lives, 
but  they  have  for  the  most  part  abandoned  all 
idea  of  any  especial  cut  of  clothes,  or  any  stifling 
of  natural  gifts,  either  in  literature,  or  art,  or 
music,  being  a  necessary  passport  to  the  favour 
of  heaven.  But  one  cannot  but  admire  and  rev- 
erence the  sturdy  adherence  to  what  was  felt  to 
be  a  religious  duty,  even  though  it  may  seem  to 
us  a  mistaken  duty,  which  characterized  those 
dear  old  saints. 


XIII 


QUAKER  "SCRUPLES" 

THE  individual  "scruples"  resulting  from 
the  various  "testimonies"  of  which  1 
have  spoken  were  practically  endless, 
for  each  individual  would  of  course  interpret  and 
apply  them  according  to  their  own  convictions  of 
duty;  and  morbidly  conscientious  souls  would 
be  continually  inventing  new  scruples,  until  life 
to  some  of  them  often  became  almost  a  torment. 
One  of  my  friends,  who  had  inherited  a  particu- 
larly morbid  conscience,  told  me,  after  we  were 
middle-aged  women,  that  no  words  could  ex- 
press what  she  went  through  on  this  account 
when  she  was  younger.  She  said  that  often  it 
seemed  impossible  for  her  to  get  dressed  and 
down-stairs  in  the  morning  because  of  the 
"  scruples  "  that  beset  her  about  every  article  of 
her  clothing,  and  that  the  only  way  she  could 
sometimes  manage  it  at  all  was  by  stuffing  her 
ears  with  cotton,  and  repeating  over,  as  fast  as 
she  could,  extracts  of  poetry,  so  as  to  keep  her- 
self from  hearing  the  inward  voice  that  was  con- 
tinually urging  her  to  fresh  sacrifices. 

In  a  diary  kept  by  an  old  great-grandmother  of 
our  family  in  the  years  1760  to  1762  there  is  a 
very  quaint  and  vivid  picture  of  the  "scruples" 


Quaker  "Scruples'*  137 


which  the  Quakerism  of  her  day  had  engendered 
in  an  earnest  but  narrow-minded  soul.  In  one 
place  she  writes  as  follows: — 

"Solomon  said  of  laughter,  'It  is  madness,' 
and  of  mirth,  'What  doeth  it?'  for  even  in 
laughter  the  heart  is  sorrowful  and  the  end  of 
that  mirth  is  heaviness.  I  often  think  if  I  could 
be  so  fixed  as  never  to  laugh  nor  to  smile,  I 
should  be  one  step  better.  It  fills  me  with  sor- 
row when  1  see  people  so  full  of  laugh." 

Again  she  writes  bemoaning  the  lax  condition 
of  things  among  the  Quakers  of  her  day: — 

"Oh!  will  there  ever  be  a  Nehemiah  raised  at 
our  meeting?  Oh!  the  fashions  and  running  into 
them;  the  young  men  wearing  of  their  hats  set 
up  behind;  next  it  must  be  a  ribbon  to  tie  their 
hair  behind.  The  girls  in  Pennsylvania  have  got 
their  necks  set  off  with  a  black  ribbon — a  sorrow- 
ful sight  indeed.  But  what  did  that  dear  friend, 
Nicholas  Davis,  tell  them — the  old  people  had  not 
done  their  duty,  and  that  was  the  reason  the 
young  were  no  better.  Six  of  those  girls  from 
Darby  were  here  from  John  Hunt's.  T  thought 
they  did  not  belong  to  Friends  till  I  was  informed 
they  did.  But  1  many  times  think  what  signifies 
my  being  concerned  about  fashions.  Where  is 
one  Friend's  child  or  children  but  some  doddery 
fashion  or  another  is  on  their  backs  or  their 
heads  ?  Here  is  this  day  Josiah  Albason's  son, 
all  the  son  he  has,  with  his  hat  close  up  behind." 

Again  under  date  of  third  month,  18,  1762, 
she  writes: — 

"Oh!  lamentable  is  our  case  I  think.  I  am  so 
filled  with  sorrow  many  times  about  the  wicked. 


138       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


Oh,  I  think  could  my  eyes  run  down  with  tears 
always  at  the  abominations  of  the  times — so 
much  excess  of  tobacco,  and  tea  is  as  bad,  so 
much  of  it,  and  they  will  pretend  they  can't  do 
without  it.  And  there  is  the  calico.  Oh!  the 
calico!  We  pretend  to  a  plain  dress  and  plain 
speech,  but  where  is  our  plainness?  Ain't  we 
like  all  the  rest,  be  they  who  they  will  ?  What 
fashion  have  not  the  Quakers  got  ?  As  William 
Hunt  said,  'Oh!  that  we  had  many  such  as  he, 
or  enough  such;  there  would  be  no  calico  among 
the  Quakers,  no,  nor  so  many  fashion-mongers. 
I  think  tobacco,  and  tea,  and  calico  may  all  be 
set  down  with  the  negroes,  all  one  as  bad  as  an- 
other.' " 

Those  extracts  from  my  great-grandmother's 
diary  show  plainly  that  the  scruples  of  one  gen- 
eration were  not  always  the  scruples  of  another; 
but  in  every  case  the  spirit  of  self-denial  was  the 
same. 

Another  grandmother,  nearer  to  me  in  time, 
whom  I  can  well  remember,  felt  a  scruple 
against  false  teeth.  They  were  just  beginning 
to  be  used,  and  as  she  was  toothless  from 
old  age,  and  had  great  difficulty  in  eating,  my 
father  had  persuaded  her  to  have  a  set  made. 
But  when  they  came  home  she  told  us  that 
she  "felt  a  stop"  in  her  mind  about  wearing 
them,  as  they  seemed  to  her  to  be  of  the  vain 
fashions  of  the  world.  They  were  consequently 
put  away  in  a  drawer  with  her  best  silk  shawl, 
and  never  saw  the  light  again.  1  remember  well 
how  saintly  we  young  people  felt  the  dear  old 
lady  to  be,  as  we  watched  her  ditticulty  in 


Quaker  "Scruples"  139 


eating,  and  her  necessary  refusal  of  so  much 
that  we  thought  good. 

A  dear  friend  who  hved  near  us  when  I  was  a 
child,  and  who  was  a  preacher  in  our  Meeting, 
bought  herself  a  new  parlour  carpet  and  had 
it  laid  down,  and  then  became  so  afraid  lest  she 
had  allowed  pride  to  enter,  that  she  felt  "led" 
to  have  several  wheelbarrow  loads  of  rough 
stones  dumped  out  upon  it  in  order  to  take 
off  its  freshness.  We  children  heard  the  story 
of  it  all  with  an  awe  not  to  be  described, 
and  from  that  time  the  preaching  of  this  dear 
saint  seemed  to  us  like  the  voice  of  an  angel 
from  Heaven. 

I  cannot  help  contrasting  here  an  experience 
of  my  own  over  a  new  carpet  many  years  after- 
wards, when  I  had  learned  something  of  the  life 
of  faith,  and  knew  the  power  of  Christ  to 
deliver.  We  had  just  bought  a  new  Brussels 
carpet  for  our  drawing-room,  with  delicate 
sprigs  of  flowers  all  over  it,  and  I  was  very 
proud  and  pleased.  Shortly  after  it  was  put 
down,  my  husband  arranged  to  have  a  num- 
ber of  rough  working-men  come  every  Sun- 
day morning  to  this  very  drawing-room  for  a 
Bible  class.  It  was  a  great  trial  to  me  to  have 
my  carpet  used  in  that  way,  and  I  was  inclined 
to  resent  it,  but  I  knew  as  a  Christian  I  ought 
not  to  feel  so,  and  yet  1  did  not  exactly  see  how 
to  overcome  the  feeling.  Some  one  happened 
to  say  to  me  about  that  time  that  there  was 
always  some  passage  in  Scripture  which  would 


140       The  Unselfishness  of  God 

help  you  out  of  every  difficulty.  This  impressed 
me,  and  once  when  I  was  praying  about  my 
carpet  difficulty  I  said  to  myself,  "  Well,  I  am 
certain  that  there  is  no  Scripture  anywhere  that 
says  anything  about  drawing-room  carpets;" 
when  at  that  very  moment  there  flashed  into  my 
mind  the  passage,  "Take  joyfully  the  spoiling 
of  your  goods."  I  immediately  seized  hold 
of  that  word  of  God  as  the  Sword  of  the  Spirit 
with  which  to  conquer  my  enemy,  and  from 
that  moment  rather  enjoyed  seeing  those  rough 
men  tramp  over  my  new  carpet.  And  I  may 
say  in  conclusion  that  that  carpet  seemed  as  if  it 
never  would  wear  out.  It  lasted  for  years,  until 
I  was  quite  tired  of  the  sight  of  it.  I  cannot 
help  thinking  mine  was  a  better  way  than  the 
rough  stones  of  the  dear  old  Friend. 

After  I  had  discovered  this  way  of  faith  one  of 
my  friends  who  had  suffered  much  from  the 
Quaker  "Scruples,"  gave  me  a  striking  analysis 
of  the  different  methods  of  living  the  Christian 
life.  She  said,  "  I  have  noticed  that  there  are 
three  ways  of  getting  to  the  other  side  of  a 
spiritual  mountain.  Some  people  tunnel  through 
by  the  sweat  of  their  brows,  and  that  is  the 
Quaker  way,  and  was  for  a  long  time  my  way. 
Some  meander  around  the  base  of  the  mountain, 
going  this  way  and  that,  but,  because  they 
always  keep  their  faces  turned  towards  the  goal, 
they  gradually,  in  spite  of  their  meanderings,  draw 
nearer  and  nearer  to  the  other  side;  and  this," 
she  said,  "was  the  way  I  adopted  when  1  was 


Quaker  "Scruples"  141 


worn  out  with  my  tunnelling.  But  now,"  she 
added,  "  here  you  are  telling  me  that  there  is  a 
third  way,  which  is  far  better  than  either  of  the 
others,  and  that  is  the  way  of  faith.  You  say 
that  there  are  Christians  who  have  found  out 
that  they  can  just  flap  the  wings  of  faith  and  fly 
right  over  the  mountain,  and  you  declare  that 
this  is  the  way  you  adopt.  I  must  confess  that 
the  people  who  adopt  your  way  seem  to  get  to 
the  other  side  far  more  quickly  and  more  easily 
than  those  who  tunnel  or  those  who  meander, 
and  I  have  decided  to  give  up  all  tunnelling  and 
all  meandering,  and  to  flap  my  wings  too  and  go 
over." 

But  the  dear  old  saints,  among  whom  my 
childhood  and  girlhood  were  passed,  did  not 
seem  to  know  how  to  flap  their  wings;  and  for 
the  most  part  they  spent  their  lives  in  steadfast 
though  weary  tunnelling.  But  their  faithfulness 
and  self-sacrifice,  even  though  I  may  feel  it  was 
in  mistaken  ways,  seemed  then  and  seems  now 
to  have  been  worthy  of  all  honour.  And  the 
one  strong  overmastering  impression  that  it 
all  made  upon  my  young  heart  was  simply  this 
— that,  by  hook  or  by  crook,  I  had  got  to  be 
good.  No  matter  what  lack  of  religious  teach- 
ing there  may  have  been  in  other  directions 
among  the  Philadelphia  Quakers,  there  was  no 
lack  here.  The  supreme  and  paramount  neces- 
sity of  being  good — thoroughly  and  honestly 
and  genuinely  good — was  in  the  very  air  we 
breathed,  and  almost  in  the  very  food  we  ate. 


142       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


I  confess  that  I  sometimes  chafed  at  this. 
The  adventurous  nature  in  me  now  and  then 
pined  for  a  chance  to  be  naughty — to  do  some- 
thing I  ought  not  to  do,  or  to  leave  undone 
something  that  was  expected  of  me — but  the 
limitations  of  my  life  made  only  very  innocent 
naughtiness  possible.  And  in  looking  back  upon 
it  now  I  am  forced  to  admire  the  wonderful 
atmosphere  of  goodness  that  surrounded  me 
with  such  a  sure  defence  against  the  evil  that 
would  otherwise  I  feel  certain,  have  been  so 
enticing  to  a  wild  free  nature  like  mine.  For  if 
-  any  human  being  was  ever  born  free  I  was. 
The  one  cry  of  my  soul  has  always  been  for 
freedom.  "Bonds  that  enslave  and  tyrannies 
that  fetter"  have  always  been  my  abhorrence, 
whether  they  were  bonds  of  actual  rules,  or 
merely  bonds  of  conventional  custom.  Had 
my  parents  made  many  rules,  I  should  have 
been  driven  to  disobey  them,  but  the  all  en- 
veloping atmosphere  of  goodness,  in  which  they 
and  their  circle  lived  and  moved,  controlled  and 
constrained  my  wayward  spirit  with  such  un- 
conscious power,  that  I  hardly  knew  1  was  being 
controlled,  and  had  a  blissful  feeling  that  some- 
how 1  nearly  always  had  my  own  way. 

No  one,  who  did  not  live  in  it,  could  I  feel 
sure,  conceive  of  the  narrow  range  of  life  with 
which  I  was  acquainted  up  to  the  age  of  eight- 
een. I  never  met  anybody  who  lived  in  what 
was  called  "the  gay  world."  My  associates 
were  only  the  staid,  sober  "Friends"  of  our  little 


Quaker  "Scruples"  143 


circle,  and  their  carefully  guarded  children.  I 
never,  as  1  have  said,  was  allowed  to  read  any 
novels;  and  I  had  absolutely  no  opportunity  of 
learning  what  life  meant  outside  of  our  narrow 
Quaker  fold.  As  to  the  sin  of  the  world  I  had 
not  the  slightest  inkling.  Nobody  every  told  me 
anything,  not  even  the  girls  at  school;  or,  if  they 
did,  I  was  too  utterly  ignorant  and  innocent  to 
understand  them;  I  venture  to  say  that  it  would 
be  perfectly  impossible  in  the  present  day  for  a 
girl  of  eighteen  to  live  in  such  an  unreal  world  of 
ignorance  as  the  one  in  which  I  lived,  or  to  enter 
upon  the  responsibilities  of  life  more  absolutely 
unprepared  to  meet  them. 

My  interior  life  up  to  the  age  of  sixteen  was  of 
the  simplest.  I  believed  what  I  was  told,  which 
however  I  have  shown  was  very  little,  and 
troubled  myself  not  one  whit  about  the  prob- 
lems of  the  universe.  My  only  conscious  relig- 
ious thoughts  were  an  underlying  fear  of  hell-fire, 
which  now  and  then  sprang  into  active  life  when 
any  epidemic  was  abroad  or  any  danger  seemed 
to  threaten.  How  1  came  to  have  this  fear  1 
cannot  now  remember,  for  the  Quakers  rarely 
touched  on  the  future  life  in  any  way,  either  as 
regarded  heaven  or  hell.  Their  one  concern  was 
as  to  the  life  of  God  in  the  soul  of  man  now  and 
here,  and  they  believed  that  where  this  was 
realized  and  lived,  the  future  could  be  safely  left 
in  the  Divine  care.  But  now  and  then  I  would 
get  a  sudden  fright  in  regard  to  my  future  and 
would  make  tremendous  resolutions  about  "be- 


144-       The  Unselfishness  of  God 

ing  good  "  and  would  for  a  few  hours  really  try 
to  correct  my  faults.  But  such  occasions  were 
not  very  lasting,  and  I  would  soon  relapse  into 
the  old  unthinking  ways. 

As  I  have  said,  however,  the  atmosphere  in 
which  I  lived  was  so  impregnated  with  goodness 
that  it  was  not  easy  even  to  think  of  anything 
naughty,  much  less  to  come  to  the  point  of  ac- 
tually doing  it,  and  I  believe  1  may  fairly  say  that 
on  the  whole  1  was  as  good  as  a  creature  full  of 
energy  and  high  spirits,  and  with  bouncing  health, 
could  be  expected  to  be.  But  up  to  the  age  of 
sixteen  I  was  simply  a  good  animal.  My  spirit- 
ual nature  was  unawakened,  and  1  had  never 
consciously  been  made  aware  of  the  existence  of 
my  soul. 

But  a  change  was  at  hand,  although  1  little 
knew  it.  My  soul  was  awaking  from  its  torpor, 
and,  like  the  butterfly  in  the  cocoon,  was  strug- 
gling to  escape  from  the  bonds  that  had  hitherto 
held  it  in  leash.  My  long  search  after  God  was 
about  to  begin. 


XIV 


THE  FIRST  EPOCH  IN  MY  RELIGIOUS  UFE 
(THE  AWAKENING) 

IN  the  story  of  my  religious  life  four  epochs 
stand  out  clearly  before  me.  The  first 
one  dawned  as  1  have  said  when  1  was  six- 
teen. In  a  dim  mysterious  way  I  began  to  be 
filled  with  vague  longings  after  something  that 
would  satisfy  my  interior  nature.  In  my  diary 
of  the  autumn  of  1848  I  find  records  of  these 
longings,  and  of  a  blind  reaching  out  for  some- 
thing to  fill  what  I  called  in  the  tragic  language 
of  youth  "the  aching  void  in  my  heart."  In  the 
midst  of  this  I  fell  head  over  ears  in  love  with 
one  of  the  young  teachers  in  the  school  I  was  at- 
tending, and  her  influence  changed  my  life.  I 
find  a  record  in  my  diary  of  all  the  steps  of  my 
acquaintance  with  her — of  my  longings  to  speak 
to  her  and  to  beg  for  her  love,  and  of  my  hesita- 
tion for  fear  of  bothering  her.  I  write  about  it 
as  follows:  — 

"  1848.  Sixteen  years  old.  This  is  an  impor- 
tant time  for  me.  Now  is  the  forming  time  of 
my  character.  I  feel  as  I  never  felt  before.  The 
great  and  solemn  duties  of  life  have,  for  the  first 
time  come  before  me.    1  was  not  born  to  be  an 

145 


146       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


idler,  for  I  feel  something  within  me,  which  tells 
me  — 

" '  Life  has  imports  more  inspiring 

Than  the  fancies  of  thy  youth ; 
It  has  hopes  as  high  as  heaven 

It  has  labour,  it  has  truth. 
It  has  wrongs  that  may  be  righted, 

Noble  deeds  that  may  be  done. 
Its  great  battles  are  unfought 

Its  great  triumphs  are  unwon.' 

"Something  which  points  onwards,  far  on- 
wards into  the  future,  beyond  this  into  a 
brighter,  happier  world,  and  tells  me  of  the 

florious  reward  of  those  who  fulfill  their  duties, 
have  not  felt  this  long: — three  months  ago  I 
was  a  careless,  happy  child.  1  am  still  a  child, 
but  an  earnest  reflecting  one,  no  longer  careless 
or  indifferent.  How  can  I  be  so,  when  there  is 
so  much,  so  very  much  to  be  thought  about;  and 
so  much  to  be  done  ?  What  has  caused  this 
change  ?  Then  there  was  an  aching  void  in  my 
heart.  I  felt  a  want  of  something,  something  I 
knew  not  what,  something  indefinable  which 
would  cause  me  to  sit  dreamily  for  hours  and 
look  into  the  sky,  and  watch  the  pale  stars  or  the 
moon,  until  my  very  being  seemed  merged  into 
theirs  and  I  almost  forgot  1  was  on  earth,  while 
my  thoughts  wandered  far  off  to  the  pathless 
regions  over  which  they  presided,  and  I  would 
strive  in  vain  to  pierce  the  mysteries  of  their  ex- 
istence. Study,  I  thought,  would  fill  that  void, 
but  I  found  I  was  mistaKen.  In  such  a  state  was 
my  mind  when,  in  the  beginning  of  ninth  month 
we  left  our  darling  little  cottage  home  and  re- 
turned to  the  city.  If  I  had  then  met  with  one 
whom  1  could  have  loved  but  whose  principles 
were  bad,  1  shudder  to  think  what  would  have 
been  the  consequences,  for  1  am  very  easily  in- 


First  Epoch  in  My  Religious  Life  147 


fluenced  by  those  I  love.  But  my  Heavenly 
Father  was  willing  to  extend  a  little  mercy  to- 
wards me.  He  sent  across  my  path  one  in 
whom  1  found  a  true  friend.  She  was  a  young 
girl  employed  by  Miss  Maryanna  as  composition 

teacher  named  Anna  S  .    1  was  prepared  to 

love  her  even  before  I  saw  her,  for  one  whom  1 
love  had  told  me  of  her  loveliness.  For  two 
weeks  after  she  first  came  to  school  I  never  spoke 
to  her,  I  believe,  but  once;  and  then  I  saw  her 
looking  for  a  book  and  handed  one  to  her  asking 
if  that  was  the  right  one.  I  thought  we  never 
would  get  acquainted.  I  used  to  sit  and  watch 
her  and  wish  1  dare  speak  to  her  and  kiss  her, 
and  this  very  longing  made  me  particularly  re- 
tiring. I  would  see  her  put  her  arms  around 
other  girls,  and  1  would  turn  away  in  sorrow  to 
think  she  would  not  do  the  same  to  me.  At  last 
one  day,  how  well  I  remember  it,  I  was  standing 
at  my  desk  when  she  came  up  and  spoke  about 
A.  S.  F.  How  happy  1  felt!  How  1  longed  to 
throw  my  arms  around  her  neck  and  beg  her  to 
let  me  love  her!  My  heart  was  all  in  a  tumult, 
yet  1  answered  her  calmly  and  without  emotion 
and  she  soon  left  me.  However  the  ice  was 
broken,  we  began  to  speak  more  frequently,  and 
one  morning  she  kissed  me.  That  kiss  was  en- 
graven on  my  heart.  1  felt  that  she  loved  me, 
and  the  thought  was  happiness.  From  that  mo- 
ment 1  have  loved,  nay  almost  idolized  her.  The 
aching  void  in  my  heart  now  is  partly  filled,  for 
I  have  listened  to  her  sentiments,  1  have  seen  her 
noble  principles  of  action,  and  1  have  found  that 
'life  is  real,  life  is  earnest,'  and  is  not  to  be 
passed  in  idle  dreaming,  or  wasted  in  frivolous 
amusements.  She  has  taught  me,  not  in  so  many 
words  but  quietly,  by  her  influence,  that  1  have  a 
mission  to  fulfill  on  earth,  and  straightway  1  must 
set  to  work  to  perform  it.    That  henceforward  I 


148       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


must  struggle  earnestly  to  become  pure  and  holy 
and  noble-hearted  that  1  may  be  great  in  the 
world  and  perform  faithfully  my  part  in  the  great 
battle  of  life.  Her  influence  has  aroused  me  from 
my  dream  of  childhood.  In  one  short  month  I 
have  become  a  woman.  Oh!  how  blessed  has 
her  friendship  been  to  me!  I  hope,  earnestly 
hope  1  may  not  abuse  the  privilege." 

A  day  or  two  later  I  wrote: — 

"Every  day  I  feel  grateful  to  my  Heavenly 
Father  for  blessing  me  with  such  a  friend  as 
Anna.  This  is  such  an  important  period  of  my 
life.  I  tremble  when  I  think  of  the  awful  re- 
sponsibility resting  upon  me.  My  character  is 
forming,  and  1  have  power  to  be  what  I  choose. 
Oh,  may  I  choose  to  be  a  good  and  noble  woman! 
To-day,  as  I  walked  along  the  street  and  thought 
of  what  might  be  my  future  destiny,  it  made  me 
almost  shrink.  1  may  be  destined  for  some  great 
work.  1  feel  that  within  me  which  tells  me  I 
could  accomplish  it.  At  any  rate  I  shall  do  a 
great  deal  of  good  or  evil.  I  will  choose  the 
former.  Oh,  my  Father  who  art  in  Heaven,  wilt 
Thou  not  assist  me  to  advance  in  the  path  of  self- 
conquest,  which  must  be  my  first  great  battle. 
What  a  glorious  triumph  it  will  be  if  I  succeed!  " 

According  to  my  diary,  every  day  now  seemed 
to  awaken  my  spiritual  nature  more  and  more, 
until  at  last  a  sort  of  climax  arrived,  and  on 
nth  mo.  28th,  1848,  I  wrote:— 

"An  eventful  day!  Eventful  I  mean  in  my 
spiritual  life.  To-day  1  have  felt  and  thought 
enough  for  a  year.  My  friend  Anna  read  to  us  in 
class  a  book  called  'Other  Worlds,'  and  also 
'Future  Existence,'  from  the  'School  Boy,'  by 


First  Epoch  in  My  Religious  Life  149 


Abbott.  It  was  all  intensely  interesting,  and  had 
an  almost  overpowering  effect  on  me.  As  I 
listened  to  the  accounts  of  those  mighty  worlds 
which  are  everywhere  scattered  around  us,  some 
of  which  are  so  distant  that  the  rays  of  light  from 
them  which  enter  our  eyes  have  left  these  stars 
six  thousand  years  ago!  As  1  reflected  that  these 
worlds  were  all  moving  on  regularly,  never  dis- 
turbing each  other,  but  all  obedient  to  one  mighty 
Creator,  the  grandeur  of  the  thought  was  intense, 
and  for  a  few  minutes  I  felt  as  though  the  happi- 
ness of  being  born  into  a  universe  so  limitless, 
so  magnificent,  so  glorious,  was  too  great.  And 
as  1  heard  of  our  future  existence,  of  the  glorious 
unimaginable  happiness  in  store  for  us,  of  the 
perfect  bliss  of  the  good  and  holy,  I  inwardly 
thanked  my  Creator  for  placing  me  among  beings 
whose  anticipations  were  so  happy.  But  then 
came  the  awful,  the  overwhelming  thought  that 
that  eternity  of  endless  bliss  was  only  for  the 
good,  and  the  remembrance  that  1  could  have  no 
share  in  it  unless  my  heart  was  changed.  Oh,  I 
cannot  describe  the  misery  of  that  moment!  It 
was  almost  too  great  to  be  borne.  And  these 
thoughts  linger  with  me.    Why  is  it  ?" 

The  impression  made  upon  me  by  this  glimpse, 
as  it  were,  into  the  magnificence  of  the  universe 
has  never  to  this  day  left  me.  At  the  bottom  of 
all  my  questionings  about  God  there  has  always 
been  a  conviction  of  His  illimitable  power  which 
nothing  would  ever  be  able  to  withstand.  But 
for  a  long  time,  as  will  be  seen,  I  thought  of  this 
power  as  being  a  selfish  power,  engaged,  not  on 
my  side,  but  against  me;  and  my  one  question 
for  many  years  was  as  to  how  I  could  win  the 
God  who  possessed  it  over  to  my  side. 


XV 


MY  SEARCH 

MY  awakening  had  come  in  earnest!  I 
was  then  about  sixteen  and  a  half,  and 
from  that  time  onwards  my  soul  was 
athirst  to  make  myself  worthy  of  the  glorious 
destiny  of  which  1  seemed  to  have  had  a  glimpse. 
And  even  deeper  than  this  was  the  longing  to  be- 
come acquainted  with  the  God  who  had  created 
the  unimaginable  wonders  of  which  I  had  been 
reading.  1  have  no  recollection  of  any  especial 
trouble  about  my  sins.  It  was  the  magnificence 
of  God  that  had  enthralled  me,  and  1  felt  as  if  it 
would  be  the  grandest  thing  in  life  to  come  to 
know  Him.  And  then  and  there  my  search  be- 
gan. But  alas!  what  a  blind  and  ignorant  search 
it  was  at  first. 

My  only  confidante  was  my  friend  Anna  . 

Not  for  the  world  would  1  have  said  anything  th 
my  parents  on  the  subject.  Their  Quaker  habits 
of  reserve  on  all  matters  of  religion  seemed  to 
make  it  impossible.  But  to  my  friend,  after  this 
day  of  awakening,  I  poured  out  my  heart  in  a 
long  letter  full  of  my  aspirations  and  my  yearn- 
ings. In  my  diary  I  have  a  copy  of  her  reply  with 
the  following  comments. 

150 


My  Search  151 


"Anna  wrote  me  a  little  note  in  reply  to  my 
letter.  Never  had  I  received  one  which  thrilled 
me  more  stirringly  than  that!  She  begged  me  to 
give  up  all  to  my  Saviour,  to  pray  for  strength, 
and  to  strive  earnestly  after  holiness  no  matter 
what  it  may  cost  me.  'Oh  dearest  Hannah,'  she 
said,  '  do  let  us  try.  Let  us  seek  to  journey  to- 
gether towards  His  glorious  kingdom!  Let  us 
struggle  for  a  portion  of  His  spirit.' 

"  Oh  that  1  could  follow  her  advice!  I  sat  here 
alone  in  my  study  and  tried  to  feel  as  if  1  could 
give  up  all.  But  1  could  not.  I  could  not  even 
feel  repentance  for  the  many,  many  sins  I  have 
committed;  and,  far  worse  than  all,  I  could  not 
feel  as  if  I  really  loved  God.  It  is  dreadful. 
What  shall  I  do.'*  1  must  repent,  1  must  love  my 
Heavenly  Father,  or  1  shall  be  eternally  ruined. 
But  I  cannot  do  it  of  myself;  God  alone  can  help 
me,  and  I  know  not  how  to  pray.  Oh  what 
shall  I  do?  Where  shall  I  go?  It  is  said,  '  Ask, 
and  ye  shall  receive.'  But  fcannot  become  really 
righteous  until  I  repent,  and  I  cannot  repent." 

From  this  time  onward  my  religious  diary  is 
one  long  record  of  wrestlings  and  agonizings, 
with  scarcely  a  ray  of  light.  My  friend  did  her 
best  to  help  me,  but  she,  like  myself,  supposed 
that  the  only  way  to  find  God  was  to  search  for 
Him  within.  Our  Quaker  education  had  been  as 
1  have  shown  to  refer  us  under  all  circumstances 
to  the  "light  within"  for  teaching  and  guidance, 
and  we  believed  that  only  when  God  should 
reveal  Himself  there,  could  we  come  really  to 
know  Him.  In  an  old  Quaker  tract  which  I  have 
found  among  my  papers,  called,  "  What  shall  we 
do  to  be  saved  ?  "  there  is  a  passage  that  sets  forth 


152       The  Unselfishness  of  God 

clearly  the  sort  of  teaching  with  which  we  had 
grown  up.    It  is  as  follows: — 

"1  cannot  direct  the  searcher  after  truth  who 
is  pensively  enquiring  what  he  shall  do  to  be 
saved,  to  the  ministry  of  any  man;  but  would 
rather  recommend  him  to  the  immediate  teaching 
of  the  word  nigh  in  the  heart,  even  the  Spirit  of 
God.  This  is  the  only  infallible  teacher,  and  the 
primary  adequate  rule  of  faith  and  practice:  it 
will  lead  those  who  attend  to  its  dictates  into  the 
peaceable  paths  of  safety  and  truth.  '  Ye  need 
not,'  said  the  Apostle  to  the  Church  formerly, 
'that  any  man  teach  you,  save  as  this  anointing 
teacheth,  which  is  truth  and  no  lie.' " 

The  natural  result  of  this  teaching  was  to  turn 
our  minds  inward,  upon  our  feelings  and  our  emo- 
tions, and  to  make  us  judge  of  our  relations  with 
God  entirely  by  what  we  found  within  ourselves. 
What  God  had  said  in  the  Bible  seemed  to  us  of 
not  nearly  so  much  authority  as  what  He  might 
say  to  us  in  our  own  hearts,  and  1  have  no  recol- 
lection of  ever  for  a  moment  going  to  the  Scrip- 
tures for  instruction.  The  "inward  voice"  was 
to  be  our  sole  teacher.  And  for  me  at  that  time 
the  inward  voice  meant  only  my  own  feelings 
and  my  own  emotions.  As  there  is  absolutely 
nothing  more  unreliable  and  unmanageable  than 
one's  inward  feelings,  it  is  no  wonder  that  1  was 
plunged  into  a  hopeless  struggle.  In  vain  I  tried 
to  work  myself  up  into  what  I  supposed  would 
be  the  sort  of  feelings  acceptable  to  God.  No 
dream  of  salvation  in  any  other  way  ever  came  to 
me.    1  talked  about  "my  Saviour,"  as  I  called 


My  Search 


»53 


Him,  but  I  never  for  a  moment  even  so  much  as 
imagined  that  He  could  or  vi'ould  save  me  unless  I 
could  make  myself  worthy  to  be  saved ;  and  as  this 
worthiness  was  mostly,  I  believed,  a  matter  of  in- 
ward pious  emotions,  I  had  no  thought  but  to  try 
somehow  to  get  up  these  emotions.  Any  one 
who  has  ever  tried  to  do  this  will  know  what  a 
weary,  hopeless  task  it  was.  The  records  in  my 
diary  of  my  religious  life  from  the  age  of  sixteen 
onwards  are  a  sad  illustration  of  the  false  methods 
of  religion  which  were  all  I  knew.  As  I  read 
them  over  I  cannot  but  pity  the  eager,  hungry 
soul  that  was  reaching  out  so  vainly  after  light, 
but  found  only  confusion  and  darkness. 

One  thing  however  consoles  me  in  this  retro- 
spect, and  that  is  that  none  of  these  religious 
struggles  seem,  as  far  as  I  can  remember,  to  have 
darkened  the  skies  of  my  outward  happiness. 
My  times  for  attending  to  my  religious  life  were 
either  in  our  Quaker  Meetings,  or  when  I  was 
alone  in  my  study  during  the  twilight,  or  at  night 
after  every  one  else  had  gone  to  bed,  and  all  the 
tragic  records  in  my  diary  were  written  then; 
while  throughout  the  day  I  was  generally  too 
happy  and  too  full  of  interests  in  my  outward 
life  to  be  troubled  by  what  went  on  in  my  re- 
ligious seasons.  I  feel  that  this  was  a  great  cause 
for  thankfulness,  for  had  the  struggles  I  went 
through  in  our  silent  Meetings  or  in  my  hours 
of  meditation  extended  through  the  days  as 
well,  I  do  not  like  to  think  of  what  might 
have  been  the  consequences.    I  believe  my 


154  Unselfishness  of  God 


diary  was  my  safety  valve,  for  I  can  remember 
well,  that,  after  writing  there  the  most  tragic 
and  despairing  records,  1  would  somehow  feel 
as  if  my  religious  exercises  were  over,  and 
would  go  off  to  bed  quite  happily,  and  sleep  the 
sleep  of  the  just  without  a  moment  of  wakeful 
anxiety  or  worry,  and  would  wake  up  the  next 
morning  full  of  the  joys  of  a  new  day,  forgetting 
all  the  miseries  1  had  so  despairingly  recorded  the 
night  before.  1  was,  I  recollect,  now  and  then 
rather  surprised  at  this  easy  transition,  and  find 
the  following  in  my  diary  during  this  time: — 

"I  cannot  understand  my  feelings.  Such  a 
hungering  and  thirsting  after  righteousness,  and 
yet,  except  in  a  few  moments  of  retirement 
(when  1  write  in  my  diary),  such  lightness,  and 
gaiety,  and  indifference.  It  seems  to  me  almost 
wrong  to  laugh,  and  yet  I  indulge  in  it  contin- 
ually.   .    .  . 

"  I  know  not  how  God  can  look  upon  me  even 
in  pity,  I  am  so  wicked.  So  often  have  1  entered 
into  a  covenant  to  serve  Him  wholly  and  entirely, 
with  fervour  of  spirit,  but  when  the  impression  of 
my  hours  of  retirement  has  nearly  faded,  and  the 
temptations  of  the  world  have  assailed  me,  I  have 
yielded,  and  have  forgotten  my  high  and  holy 
calling  through  fear  of  the  world's  dread  laugh, 
and  through  the  love  of  sin.  Oh  that  I  could  do 
otherwise!  The  mercy  of  God  will  some  day  be 
exhausted,  and  where  will  I  be  then  }  1  dare  not 
think." 

I  can  see  now  that  it  was,  as  I  have  said,  my 
salvation  from  an  utterly  morbid  false  sort  of  re- 
ligion, that  my  natural  happy  joyousness  con- 


My  Search 


155 


tinually  delivered  me  out  of  its  snares,  although 
at  the  time  this  seemed  to  me  so  wicked.  How 
morbid  and  false  all  my  ideas  of  religion  were  at 
this  time,  a  few  further  extracts  from  my  diary 
will  reveal. 

"Oh  it  is  a  sorrowful  thought  that  upon  my- 
self depends  the  salvation  of  my  soul,  and  1  can 
do  absolutely  nothing!  Whichever  side  1  turn 
all  looks  dark  and  gloomy.  Oh  I  must  renew 
my  efforts.  ...  Oh  that  I  could  repent! 
But  1  cannot.  I  know  it  is  wrong,  I  dread  the 
anger  of  God,  but  1  cannot  feel  what  1  know  true 
repentance  is.  Oh  that  1  could!  I  almost  wish 
I  could  be  as  indifferent  as  I  once  was,  that  I 
could  forget  all  that  1  have  felt;  for  it  seems  im- 
possible for  me  ever  to  be  a  Christian.    .    .  . 

"This  afternoon  in  meeting  1  was  favoured  to 
feel,  more  perhaps  than  ever  before,  the  spirit  of 
supplication.  My  exercise  was  so  great  that  I 
could  scarcely  sit  still.  My  head  throbbed  pain- 
fully, and  my  heart  felt  as  though  it  would  break 
with  the  agony.  Oh  how  awful  to  feel  that  I 
have  of  myself  no  power  even  to  think  a  holy 
thought,  and  yet  I  must  gain  the  salvation  of  my 
soul.  1  cannot  repent,  I  cannot  love  my  Saviour, 
and  I  do  not  believe  1  ever  will.  What,  what 
shall  I  do  ?  " 

Three  months  after  my  awakening  I  wrote:— 

"It  has  been  more  than  three  months  since  I 
began  in  earnest  to  seek  the  salvation  of  my  soul, 
and  1  have  not  advanced  one  step.  Could  1  have 
seen  then  all  that  was  before  me  1  should  have 
given  up  in  despair.  I  should  have  thought  it 
impossible  to  wait  and  pray  and  struggle  for 
three  months,  and  gain  nothing.    Now  I  look 


156       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


forward  to  many,  many  more  months  of  prayer, 
and  struggling,  and  waiting,  with  a  fear,  almost 
a  certainty,  that  that  too  will  be  all  in  vain.  If 
there  was  only  some  outward  work,  entirely  dis- 
tinct from  the  inward  change  which  is  necessary, 
something  to  be  done,  not  something  to  be 
prayed  for — a  cutting  off  of  a  hand  or  a  foot,  or 
mflicting  austerities  upon  myself,  then  perhaps  I 
might  become  a  Christian,  for  such  things  I 
could  do.  But  the  inward  change  I  cannot 
effect,  and  yet  I  am  accountable  if  it  is  not 
effected.  Accountable  for  not  doing  what  1  can- 
not do!  It  is  a  dreadful  thought!  I  feel  just  as 
if  1  was  seated,  sick  and  weary,  at  the  base  of  a 
high  and  inaccessible  mountain  peak,  whose 
summit  1  must  reach  alone  in  the  darkness  of 
night.  Oh  Heavenly  Father,  wilt  Thou  not  en- 
able me  to  be  faithful,  to  strive  earnestly,  and  to 
endure  to  the  end.  .  .  .  I  am  so  ignorant 
and  inexperienced  that  I  feel  almost  afraid  to  do 
anything.  There  are  many,  many  things  I  long 
to  enquire  about,  but  whom  shall  I  ask  ?  I  can- 
not speak  to  my  parents  until  I  know  of  a  cer- 
tainty that  I  am  accepted.  I  love  them  too 
dearly  to  be  willing  to  cause  the  anguish  of  see- 
ing me  give  up  in  despair.  My  own  dear  friend, 
Anna,  says  she  is  not  a  Christian,  and  she  dare 
not  counsel  or  comfort  me.  And  there  is  no 
one.  Alone  I  must  bear  all  my  burdens!  Alone 
I  must  seek  the  entrance  to  the  straight  and  nar- 
row way!  Alone  1  must  work  out  my  soul's 
salvation!  And  I  can  of  myself  do  nothing! 
Oh  what  shall  I  do?" 

As  an  illustration  of  the  sort  of  teaching  I  was 
receiving  at  this  time  the  following  extract  will 
be  valuable: — 

"Went  to  12th  Street  meeting  this  morning. 


My  Search 


157 


where  I  was  favoured  to  have  a  few  moments  of 
real  prayer.  But  my  discouragement  was  very 
great,  so  that  I  could  scarcely  avoid  crying  aloud 
for  help;  and  in  my  despair  I  besought  my  Fa- 
ther in  Heaven,  if  it  seemed  good  unto  Him,  to 
put  a  few  words  of  encouragement  into  the 
mouth  of  one  of  His  servants.  My  prayer  was 
answered.  Almost  immediately  Samuel  Bettle 
rose  and  spoke  in  a  manner  remarkably  applica- 
ble to  me,  bidding  the  poor  and  needy,  though 
now  they  might  seem  to  be  in  the  depths  of  trib- 
ulation, in  darkness  and  seeing  no  light,  and 
thirsty  yet  finding  no  water,  to  put  their  trust  in 
the  Lord  Jesus,  and  patiently  abide  His  time,  and 
they  would  be  filled  with  the  light  of  His  Holy 
Spirit,  and  fountains  of  living  water  would  flow 
from  them  freely." 

Of  what  it  meant  to  "  put  one's  trust  in  Jesus" 
I  had  not  the  faintest  conception,  and  I  do  not  re- 
member giving  it  a  moment's  thought.  But  to 
"patiently  abide  God's  time"  seemed  something 
I  could  understand,  and  I  went  home  from  the 
meeting  that  day  with  a  weary  sense  of  an  inter- 
minable waiting  for  the  light  of  the  Holy  Spirit  to 
shine  in  my  heart  and  give  me  the  longed-for  joy 
and  peace.  And  so  day  after  day  went  by  in  a 
hopeless  watching  of  my  feelings  and  my  emo- 
tions, which  I  was  never  able  to  bring  up  to  the 
right  pitch  of  fervour;  and  my  unrest  and  dark- 
ness of  spirit  only  grew  more  and  more  despair- 
ing. 

One  final  extract  from  my  diary  will  suffice. 

"Third  month,  i,  1849.  Very  sad.  The  fear 
that  this  longing  for  salvation  may  be  all  a  delu- 


158       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


sion  attends  me  always,  and  everything  is  so 
completely  veiled  in  gloom  that  I  can  scarcely  take 
a  single  step.  It  seems  to  me  I  cannot  bear  this 
state  much  longer.  But  oh  Father!  Thy  will  not 
mine  be  done." 


XVI 


ECLIPSE  OF  FAITH 

THIS  morbid  self-introspection  lasted,  with 
variable  degrees  of  earnestness,  until  the 
time  of  my  marriage  at  nineteen.  Noth- 
ing ever  came  of  it,  and  in  the  nature  of  things, 
nothing  ever  could.  It  was  a  self-involved  re- 
ligion that  had  no  relation  whatever  to  any  Divine 
facts.  And  1  see  now  that  it  was  a  mercy  my 
marriage,  and  the  new  life  and  wider  interests  into 
which  I  was  introduced,  more  or  less  turned  my 
attention  in  other  directions,  and  made  my  re- 
ligious emotions  and  feelings  sink  into  the  back- 
ground for  a  time,  so  that  my  mind  became  free 
at  a  later  period  to  take  an  entirely  different  view 
of  the  religious  life. 

I  believe,  however,  that  my  experiences  during 
these  years  have  been  valuable  in  one  way,  and 
that  is  in  teaching  me  to  avoid  ever  encouraging 
in  the  young  people  1  have  known  any  sort  of  a 
self-absorbed  interior  life.  Self-absorption  is  al- 
ways a  temptation  to  young  people,  and  if  their 
religion  is  of  a  sort  to  add  to  this  self-absorption, 
I  feel  that  it  is  a  serious  mistake.  If  1  had  my 
way,  the  whole  subject  of  feelings  and  emotions 
in  the  religious  life  would  be  absolutely  ignored. 
Feelings  there  will  be,  doubtless,  but  they  must 
'59 


l6o       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


not  be  in  the  least  depended  on,  nor  in  any  sense 
be  taken  as  the  test  or  gauge  of  one's  religion. 
They  ought  to  be  left  out  of  the  calculation  en- 
tirely. You  may  feel  good  or  you  may  feel  bad, 
but  neither  the  good  feeling  nor  the  bad  feeling 
affects  the  real  thing.  It  may  affect  your  com- 
fort in  the  thing,  but  it  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  reality  of  the  thing.  If  God  loves  you,  it  is 
of  no  account,  as  far  as  the  fact  goes,  whether 
you  feel  that  He  loves  you  or  do  not  feel  it;  al- 
though, as  I  say,  it  materially  affects  your  com- 
fort. Of  course,  if  you  really  believe  that  He 
loves  you,  you  cannot  help  being  glad  about  it; 
but  if  you  make  your  belief  dependent  upon  your 
feelings  of  gladness,  you  are  reversing  God's  or- 
der in  the  most  hopeless  kind  of  way.  1  like  so 
much  that  story  of  Luther  when  the  devil  said  to 
him:  "Luther,  do  you  feel  that  you  are  a  child 
of  God?"  and  Luther  replied,  "No,  1  do  not  feel 
it  at  all,  but  1  know  it.  Get  thee  behind  me, 
Satan." 

During  all  the  years  when  I  was  struggling  over 
my  feelings,  I  never  succeeded  in  making  them 
what  I  thought  they  ought  to  be;  and  as  a  conse- 
quence the  religious  part  of  my  life  was  a  misery 
to  me.  But  after  I  had  learned  that  the  facts  of 
religion  were  far  more  important  than  my  feel- 
ings about  these  facts,  and  had  consequently  given 
up  looking  at  my  feelings,  and  sought  only  to 
discover  the  facts,  I  became  always  happy  in  my 
religious  life,  and  had,  without  any  eff"ort,  the 
very  feelings  of  love  to  God,  and  of  rest  and 


Eclipse  of  Faith  i6l 

peace  and  joy  in  my  soul  that  before  I  had  so 
vainly  tried  to  work  up.  No  words  can  express 
how  vital  I  consider  this  point  to  be,  nor  how 
much,  since  I  have  found  it  out  for  myself,  1  have 
longed  to  make  everybody  else  see  it. 

Many  years  after  it  had  all  become  clear  to  me, 
one  of  my  children  came  to  me  evidently  in  great 
perplexity  and  said,  "Mother,  how  long  does  it 
take  God  to  forgive  you  when  you  have  been 
naughty  ?"  "  It  does  not  take  Him  a  minute,"  I 
replied.  "Oh,"  she  said,  "1  can't  believe  that. 
I  think  you  have  to  feel  sorry  first  for  a  good 
many  days,  and  then  you  have  to  ask  Him  in  a 
very  pretty  and  nice  way,  and  then  perhaps  He 
can  forgive  you."  "  But,"  1  said,  "  daughter,  the 
Bible  says  that  if  we  confess  our  sins  He  is  faith- 
ful and  just  to  forgive  us  right  straight  off." 
"Well,"  she  said,  "  I  wouldn't  believe  that  if  fifty 
Bibles  said  it,  because  1  know  that  you  have  got 
to  feel  sorry  for  quite  a  good  while,  and  then  you 
have  got  to  ask  God  in  a  very  pretty  way,  and 
then  you  have  got  to  wait  till  He  is  ready  to  for- 
give you." 

1  found  the  case  was  really  serious,  so,  taking 
the  child  on  my  lap,  I  opened  the  Bible  and  made 
her  read  out  loud  the  verse  1  had  quoted,  and  then 
explained  to  her  that  God  loved  us  so  much  that 
He  sent  His  Son  to  die  for  us,  and  that,  because 
of  His  love.  He  was  always  ready  to  forgive  us 
the  minute  we  asked  Him,  just  as  mothers  were 
always  ready  to  forgive  their  children  as  soon  as 
the  children  wanted  to  be  forgiven.    At  last  the 


l62       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


child  was  convinced,  and  putting  her  little  hands 
together  she  said  in  a  reverent  little  voice,  "Dear 
Lord  Jesus,  I  want  you  to  forgive  me  this  very 
minute  for  all  my  naughty,  and  I  am  certain  sure 
you  will,  because  you  love  me."  And  then  she 
jumped  down  off  my  lap  and  ran  away  shouting 
merrily  in  childish  glee. 

My  little  girl  was  happy  because  she  had  found 
out  a  happy  fact  and  believed  it.  But  in  her  first 
way  of  looking  at  the  matter  she  was  only  voic- 
ing the  natural  idea  of  the  human  heart.  We  all 
feel,  as  she  did,  that  we  must  come  to  God  with 
great  doubt  and  timidity,  as  to  a  Being  of  whom 
we  know  but  little,  and  whom  we  fear  much; 
and  that  His  favour  depends  altogether  upon  the 
beauty  and  suitableness  of  our  emotions,  and  the 
ceremonious  order  of  our  approach.  To  come 
"  boldly  to  the  throne  of  grace  to  find  mercy  and 
obtain  help  in  the  time  of  need  "  is  only  possible 
to  the  soul  that  has  been  brought  into  a  real  ac- 
quaintance with  the  goodness  of  God. 

During  all  the  years  however  of  which  1  speak, 
from  the  age  of  sixteen  to  twenty-six,  1  knew 
nothing  of  this.  God  was  to  me  a  far  off,  unap- 
proachable Being,  whom,  in  spite  of  all  my  eager 
and  painful  searching,  I  failed  utterly  to  find.  I 
had  not  the  slightest  conception  of  what  the  ex- 
pression "  God  is  love  "  meant.  My  idea  of  Him 
was  that  He  was  a  stern  and  selfish  task-master, 
who  might  perhaps,  if  one  could  only  secure  the 
sort  of  feelings  and  of  conduct  that  would  please 
Him,  be  induced  to  pay  some  little  attention  to 


Eclipse  of  Faith  163 

the  needs  of  His  children,  but  who  was  for  the 
most  part  so  absorbed  in  thoughts  of  His  own 
glory,  and  of  the  consideration  and  reverence  due 
to  Himself,  that  it  was  almost  impossible,  except 
by  a  superhuman  degree  of  perfection,  to  win 
His  regards.  He  seemed  to  me  a  supremely 
selfish  Autocrat  who  held  my  fate  in  His  hands, 
but  who  only  cared  for  me  in  proportion  to  my 
power  of  adding  to  His  honour  and  His  glory. 
Of  all  His  loving  and  beautiful  unselfishness, 
which  1  was  afterwards  to  discover,  1  had  for  all 
these  years  not  the  faintest  glimpse. 

Moreover,  the  only  way  I  knew  of  by  which 
one  could  know  that  this  unapproachable  Diety 
did  condescend  to  turn  even  a  slight  ear  to  the 
cries  of  His  children,  was  to  have  some  sort  of 
an  interior  feeling  of  it,  and  consequently,  when- 
ever I  was  religious  at  all,  the  whole  energy  of 
my  spirit  was  spent,  as  1  have  said,  in  the  effort 
to  acquire  in  some  occult  way  this  necessary  in- 
ward feeling.  The  sort  of  introspection  I  had 
imbibed  from  my  Quaker  teaching  was  calculated 
to  lead  to  constant  self-examination  of  the  most 
difficult  sort,  because  it  was  an  examination,  not 
so  much  into  one's  actions,  as  into  one's  emo- 
tions! And,  considering  what  ticklish  things  our 
emotions  are,  and  how  much  they  depend  upon 
the  state  of  our  health,  or  the  state  of  the 
weather,  or  the  influence  of  other  minds,  no 
more  fatal  occupation  in  my  opinion  can  be  in- 
dulged in  than  this  sort  of  self-examination,  and 
no  more  unreliable  guage  could  possibly  be  found 


164       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


as  to  one's  spiritual  condition  than  that  afforded 
by  one's  own  interior  emotions.  But  the  religion 
of  my  years  between  sixteen  and  twenty-six  was 
nothing  but  a  religion  of  trying  to  feel;  and,  as  I 
was  a  very  natural,  healthy  sort  of  being,  my 
feelings  were  not  likely  to  be  very  sentimental  or 
pious;  and  the  agonizing  futile  efforts  that  I  have 
described  to  bring  them  up  to  the  right  religious 
pitch  is  something  pitiful  to  consider. 

My  soul  hungered  after  God,  but  I  could  not 
find  Him.  Even  the  comfort  of  prayer  was  de- 
nied me,  for  I  had,  as  I  have  said,  imbibed  the  idea 
that  you  could  not  pray  acceptably  unless  you 
felt  an  inward  sense  of  the  Divine  favour,  and  that 
any  prayers  offered  without  this  sense  were 
really  a  mockery,  and  even  perhaps  a  sin.  And, 
since  this  inward  sense  of  God's  favour  was  the 
very  thing  I  was  seeking  to  secure,  and  yet  might 
not  pray  for  until  I  first  possessed  it,  I  seemed 
tossed  out  helpless  and  forlorn  into  dreary  dark- 
ness. 

What  the  Bible  said  about  God's  love  was  alto- 
gether a  secondary  consideration  to  what  I  might 
feel  about  it;  indeed,  as  far  as  I  can  recollect,  I 
did  not  consider  the  Bible  at  all.  "  How  do  I 
feel?" not  "  What  does  God  say  ?  "  was  my  daily 
cry.  1  was  like  a  criminal  in  the  presence  of  a 
judge,  who,  instead  of  being  concerned  as  to 
how  the  judge  felt  about  him,  should  spend  all 
his  efforts  in  trying  to  see  how  he  felt  about  the 
judge. 

A  more  ridiculous  as  well  as  pitiful  attitude  of 


Eclipse  of  Faith  165 


soul  one  can  hardly  conceive  of.  And  yet  no  one 
whom  I  approached  on  the  subject  seemed  to 
know  any  better;  and  I  floundered  on  in  a  de- 
spairing sort  of  way,  afraid  to  give  up  my  spir- 
itual struggles  lest  I  should  be  eternally  damned, 
and  yet  realizing  that  they  brought  no  help;  and 
being  continually  tempted  to  upbraid  God  for 
being  deaf  to  my  cries. 

I  was  like  a  man  kneeling  in  a  dark  room  and 
praying  despairingly  for  light,  ignorant  of  the 
fact  that  outside  the  sun  was  shining,  and  that  it 
only  needed  to  open  the  windows  and  light 
would  pour  in.  In  the  very  nature  of  things 
light,  either  in  the  physical  world  or  the  spirit- 
ual world,  cannot  be  self-evolved.  I  had  gone  to 
work  in  entirely  the  wrong  way.  I  was  trying 
to  feel  before  I  knew;  and,  instead  of  basing  my 
feelings  upon  my  knowledge,  I  was  seeking  to 
base  my  knowledge  upon  my  feelings. 

it  was  just  as  if  a  man,  wanting  to  travel  to  a 
certain  place,  should  enter  the  first  railway  station 
he  might  come  across,  and,  without  making  any 
enquiries,  should  take  a  seat  in  the  first  railway 
carriage  at  hand,  and  should  then  shut  his  eyes 
and  try  to  feel  whether  he  was  in  the  right  train 
or  not.  No  man  in  his  senses  would  do  such  an 
idiotic  thing.  And  yet  it  was  exactly  this  I  was 
doing  in  my  religious  life.  It  never  entered  my 
head  to  try  and  find  out  the  facts  of  religion.  I 
did  not  even  know  there  were  any  facts  to  find 
out.  My  relations  with  God  seemed  to  me  alto- 
gether a  matter  of  my  own  feelings  towards  Him, 


i66       The  Unselfishness  of  God 

and  not  in  the  least  of  His  feelings  towards  me; 
and  every  religious  energy  I  possessed  was  con- 
sequently directed  towards  getting  up  these 
necessary  feelings. 

Of  course  it  was  an  impossible  task,  and,  as 
time  went  on,  and  no  right  feelings  would  come 
for  all  my  striving,  I  became  more  and  more  dis- 
couraged, and  at  last,  when  I  was  between 
twenty-three  and  twenty-four,  I  found  myself 
being  driven  into  absolute  unbelief.  I  argued 
that,  if  there  really  was  a  God  anywhere,  some 
answer  to  all  my  long  and  earnest  wrestling 
would  surely  have  been  vouchsafed  tome;  and 
that,  since  He  made  no  sign,  therefore  He  could 
not  be. 

Moreover,  as  I  grew  older,  1  had  begun  to  learn 
something  more  of  the  awful  condition  of  things 
in  the  world  because  of  sin;  and  the  manifest 
evidences  1  seemed  to  see  of  an  imperfect  crea- 
tion in  my  own  life  and  in  the  lives  of  others, 
where  failure  was  generally  the  rule,  and  success 
only  the  exception,  appeared  to  me  incompatible 
with  the  idea  of  a  wise  and  sensible  Creator,  not 
to  say  a  good  One,  such  as  1  had  been  told  I  must 
believe  in.  And  gradually  the  creation  came  to 
seem  to  me  such  a  grievous  failure  that  I  felt 
driven  to  the  conclusion  that  either  it  must  have 
been  a  wicked  God  who  had  created  us,  or  else 
we  had  not  been  created  by  God  at  all,  but 
by  some  evil  and  malicious  power  opposed  to 
Him. 

In  my  diary  under  date  of  iithmo.  5,  1855, 


Eclipse  of  Faith 


167 


I  head  my  entry  with  the  following  ominous 
words : — 

"  The  Eclipse  of  Faith." 

"This  last  year  has  witnessed  a  great  change 
in  me.  Every  faculty  of  my  nature  has  been 
thoroughly  aroused.  I  have  felt  my  mind  ex- 
panding and  have  been  cognizant  of  an  actual  and 
rapid  mental  growth.  I  pass  from  one  phase  of 
experience  to  another,  leave  behind  me  one  stand- 
ing place  after  another,  and  am  now — wherel 
Oh  Christ,  that  I  indeed  knew  where! 

"An  inevitable  chain  of  reasoning  on  free  will 
has  loosened  every  foothold,  and  I  know  not 
where  to  rest,  if  indeed  there  is  any  rest.  With- 
out any  apprehension  on  my  part  of  the  result, 
thoughts  and  reasonings  have  been  slowly  gath- 
ering around  my  faith,  and  dashing  themselves 
against  it,  until  at  last,  with  a  sudden  shock,  it 
has  fallen;  and  1  am  lost! 

"It  has  come  to  me  like  this.  Benevolence 
certainly  is  a  necessary  attribute  of  the  Almighty. 
His  love,  we  are  told,  surpasses  the  love  of  an 
earthly  parent  far  more  than  we  can  imagine. 
But  it  is  utterly  inconsistent  with  this  to  suppose 
that  He  can  have  any  foreknowledge  of  the  des- 
tiny of  the  human  beings  He  creates.  For  of 
course,  did  He  know,  His  benevolence  would  not 
allow  Him  to  create  any  but  beings  destined  to 
eternal  happiness.  Therefore  He  cannot  be  om- 
niscient. Further  if  He  were  omnipotent,  as  we 
are  told.  He  would  have  made  such  modifications 
in  man's  nature  as  would  at  least  render  the  work 
of  salvation  less  difficult  and  of  far  more  frequent 
occurrence.    Therefore  He  cannot  be  both  all 


l68       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


loving  and  also  all  powerful.  Without  either  of 
these  He  ceases  to  be  a  God.  Either  He  has  set 
in  motion  a  creating  force  which  He  can  neither 
control  nor  end,  and  has  performed  His  work  in 
the  first  place  so  imperfectly  and  blindly  that  the 
results  are  grievously  disastrous;  or  He  has  noth- 
ing to  do  with  creation,  and  we  are  created  by 
another  and  an  evil  Power. 

sic  :ic  ^ 

"A  further  conclusion  is  forced  upon  me. 
Justice  is  another  necessary  attribute  of  a  good 
God.  But  it  were  most  utterly  unjust  that  we 
now  should  be  feeling  the  effects  of  Adam's  fall, 
supposing  there  ever  was  such  a  thing.  We  are 
driven  therefore  from  the  possibility  of  a  just 
Creator  making  independent  beings  suffer  eter- 
nally for  each  other's  sins.  And  on  the  other 
hand  benevolence  could  not  allow  of  the  creation 
of  innately  wicked  natures,  while  justice  could 
not  share  in  punishing  them. 

"There  is  no  escape!  A  thousand  questions 
rush  in  on  every  side.    I  am  a  sceptic  1 " 


XVII 

A  RENEWED  SEARCH 

THIS  scepticism  continued  for  over  two 
years,  and  I  had  quite  settled  down  to  it 
and  looked  upon  it  as  the  normal  condi- 
tion of  every  thoughtful  reasonable  being.  But  the 
year  1858  was  destined  to  see  everything  changed. 
Early  in  that  year  I  had  become  acquainted  with 
some  very  orthodox  Christians  who  were  full  of 
the  doctrines  and  dogmas  of  Christianity.  As  I 
have  stated  before,  I  knew  absolutely  nothing  of 
doctrines.  They  had  never  come  into  my  scheme 
of  religion  at  all.  I  was  immensely  interested 
therefore  in  hearing  about  them,  and  began  to 
wonder  whether  my  unbelief  might  not  have 
been  caused  by  my  utter  ignorance  of  these  very 
doctrines.  Under  date  of  April  25,  1858,  I  wrote 
in  my  diary: — 

"The  Bible  talks  of  the  necessity  of  being 
'born  again,'  what  does  it  mean.?  Is  there 
really  such  a  thing  practically  to  be  experienced  ? 
And  is  a  belief  in  Jesus  of  Nazareth  as  the  Saviour 
of  the  world  necessary  to  it  ?  Oh,  how  1  long  for 
settlement.  ...  It  may  be  that  all  my  fail- 
ures to  find  and  walk  in  the  right  way  arise  from 
my  rejection  of  Christ  in  the  sense  in  which  most 
Christians  seem  to  receive  Him,  but  1  really  can- 
not receive  Him  so.  And  besides,  if  their  way  is 
169 


170       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


the  truth,  I  must  wait  until  my  Divine  Guide  leads 
me  into  it;  and  certainly  He  is  not  leading  me 
there  now,  but,  it  seems  to  me,  further  and  further 
away.  .  ,  .  My  whole  soul  and  intellect  seem 
to  shrink  from  the  material  orthodox  view  of  the 
Gospel.  It  seems  impossible  for  me  to  believe  in 
the  atoning  merits  of  Christ's  death.  My  mind 
revolts  from  anything  so  material  as  the  thought 
that  the  outward  death  of  His  body,  (which  after 
all  must  necessarily  have  taken  place  in  some  way 
as  a  consequence  of  His  humanity),  could  have 
had  any  atoning  merits.  Far  more  likely,  if 
atonement  was  needed  at  all,  was  it  His  life  that 
was  the  sacrifice.  To  put  on  humanity  must  in- 
deed have  been  to  Divinity  a  wonderful  conde- 
scension, and  bitter  suffermg;  to  put  it  off,  no 
matter  in  what  way,  could  be  none  whatever. 

"  But  I  may  be  wrong  in  my  views.  Only  the 
Lord  can  teach  me." 

Again  on  May  18,  1858,  I  write: — 

"  I  cannot  help  the  feeling  that  I  have  attained 
to  a  higher  form  of  Truth  than  the  apostles  had, 
and  therefore  I  cannot  pray  '  Lord,  1  believe,  help 
thou  my  unbelief  since  1  have  no  conviction  of 
being  in  unbelief.  1  am  not  comfortable,  how- 
ever, in  my  belief  or  unbelief,  whichever  it  may 
be,  and  yet  1  can  see  no  way  of  escape.  Last 
night  at  our  Bible  class  I  introduced  the  subject, 
hoping  that  my  orthodox  friends  would  be  able 
to  argue  so  conclusively  on  their  side  as  to  force 
me  to  a  conviction  in  the  orthodox  form  of  faith. 
But  I  felt  at  the  end  that  no  argument  could  avail 
anything.  If  my  belief  is  to  be  changed  it  will 
have  to  be  by  a  Divine  power,  and  it  would  be 
indeed  a  being  'born  again.'  But  it  seems  im- 
possible to  me." 


A  Renewed  Search  171 


Again,  on  June  25,  1858,  I  wrote: — 

"Cold  and  dead  again  and  full  of  pride!  The 
day  will  certainly  come  at  last  when  it  will  be 
said  of  me  as  of  Ephraim  of  old,  '  She  is  wedded 
to  her  idols,  let  her  alone!'  My  'idol'  now  I 
fear  is  the  pride  of  human  reason  which  will  not 
submit  to  become  as  a  little  child  before  it  can 
enter  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven.  ...  At  pres- 
ent 1  am  in  great  trouble  because  of  my  religious 
belief.  I  long  to  adopt  the  Orthodox  creed,  but 
cannot;  and  while  on  one  hand  it  seems  to  me 
wicked  that  I  cannot,  at  the  same  time  it  seems 
also  wicked  in  me  to  try  to  do  so,  when  a  clearer 
light  seems  to  have  been  granted  me.  If  the  truth 
is  what  the  Unitarians  profess,  1  am  afraid  to 
know  it.  1  dread  the  consequences.  I  shrink 
from  the  contempt  and  reproaches  it  would  bring 
upon  me.  And  yet  at  the  same  time  there  is  per- 
haps something  a  little  pleasing  to  the  natural 
human  pride  and  heroism  to  think  of  being  called 
upon  to  take  an  independent  stand  for  what  1 
consider  a  higher  form  of  truth.  And  yet  1  do 
not  want  to  be  independent  of  those  1  love.  I  am 
in  a  state  of  sad  perplexity." 

This  perplexity  increased  and  deepened,  and  I 
began  at  last  to  think  it  was  dishonest  not  to  speak 
it  out  to  my  friends,  and  was  just  about  making 
up  my  mind  to  do  so,  when  one  day  an  event  oc- 
curred that  changed  the  whole  current  of  my  life. 

And  this  brings  me  to  the  second  epoch  in  my 
soul's  history. 


XVIII 


SECOND   EPOCH  IN  MY  RELIGIOUS  LIFE 
(RESTORATION  OF  BELIEF) 

IT  "was  in  the  year  1858  and  I  was  twenty- 
six  years  old.  I  had  just  lost  a  precious  little 
daughter  five  years  old,  and  my  heart  was 
aching  with  sorrow.  I  could  not  endure  to  think 
that  my  darling  had  gone  out  alone  into  a  God- 
less universe;  and  yet,  no  matter  on  which  side 
I  turned,  there  seemed  no  ray  of  light. 

It  happened  that  just  at  this  time  the  religious 
world  was  being  greatly  stirred  by  the  inaugura- 
tion of  daily  noonday  meetings,  held  from  twelve 
to  one,  in  the  business  part  of  the  city,  and 
crowded  with  business  men.  I  had  heard  of 
these  noonday  meetings  with  a  very  languid  in- 
terest, as  1  thought  they  were  only  another  effort 
of  a  dying-out  superstition  to  bolster  up  its  cause. 
However,  one  day  I  happened  to  be  near  a  place 
where  one  of  these  meetings  was  being  held,  and 
I  thought  I  would  go  in  and  see  what  it  was  like. 
It  was  an  impressive  thing  to  see  such  crowds  of 
busy  men  and  women  collected  together  at  that 
hour  in  one  of  the  busiest  parts  of  the  city,  and  I 
remember  wondering  vaguely  what  it  could  all 
be  about.  Then  suddenly  something  happened 
to  me.  What  it  was  or  how  it  came  1  had  no 
172 


Second  Epoch  in  My  Religious  Life  173 

idea,  but  somehow  an  inner  eye  seemed  to  be 
opened  in  my  soul,  and  1  seemed  to  see  that  after 
all  God  was  a  fact — the  bottom  fact  of  all  facts — 
and  that  the  only  thing  to  do  was  to  find  out  all 
about  Him.  It  was  not  a  pious  feeling,  such  as  I 
had  been  looking  for,  but  it  was  a  conviction, —  -V. 
just  such  a  conviction  as  comes  to  one  when  a 
mathematical  problem  is  suddenly  solved.  One 
does  not  feel  it  is  solved,  but  one  knows  it,  and 
there  can  be  no  further  question.  I  do  not  re- 
member anything  that  was  said.  I  do  not  even 
know  that  1  heard  anything.  A  tremendous  rev- 
olution was  going  on  within  me  that  was  of  far 
profounder  interest  than  anything  the  most  elo- 
quent preacher  could  have  uttered.  God  was 
making  Himself  manifest  as  an  actual  existence, 
and  my  soul  leaped  up  in  an  irresistible  cry  to 
know  Him. 

It  was  not  that  I  felt  myself  to  be  a  sinner 
needing  salvation,  or  that  1  was  troubled  about 
my  future  destiny.  It  was  not  a  personal  ques- 
tion at  all.  It  was  simply  and  only  that  1  had 
become  aware  of  God,  and  that  I  felt  I  could  not 
rest  until  I  should  know  Him.  1  might  be  good 
or  I  might  be  bad;  I  might  be  going  to  Heaven 
or  1  might  be  going  to  hell— these  things  were 
outside  the  question.  All  1  wanted  was  to  be- 
come acquainted  with  the  God  of  whom  1  had 
suddenly  become  aware. 

How  to  set  about  it  was  the  one  absorbing 
question.  I  had  no  one  I  cared  to  ask,  and  it 
never  occurred  to  me  that  prayer  would  help  me. 


1^4       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


It  seemed  to  me  like  the  study  of  some  new  and 
wonderful  branch  of  knowledge  to  which  1  must 
apply  with  all  diligence,  and  I  concluded  that  prob- 
ably the  Bible  was  the  book  I  needed.  "This 
book,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  professes  to  teach  us 
about  God.  I  will  see  if  it  can  teach  me  any- 
thing." 1  was  going  with  my  family  to  spend 
some  weeks  at  the  seashore,  and  I  decided  to 
take  no  books  but  the  Bible,  and  to  try  and  find 
out  what  it  said  about  God.  In  my  diary  I 
wrote  under  date  of  July  i6,  1858  — 

"  I  have  brought  my  Bible  to  Atlantic  City  this 
summer  with  a  determination  to  find  out  what 
its  plan  of  salvation  is.  My  own  plans  have 
failed  utterly,  now  1  will  try  God's  if  possible. 
.  .  .  1  am  trying  to  believe  Him  simply  as  a 
little  child.  I  have  laid  aside  my  preconceived 
notions  of  what  He  ought  to  do  and  say,  and 
have  come  in  simplicity  to  the  Bible  to  see  what 
He  has  done  and  said;  and  I  will  believe  Him." 

Some  one  had  remarked  once  in  my  hearing  that 
the  book  of  Romans  contained  the  clearest  and 
fullest  statements  of  Christian  doctrine  to  be 
found  in  the  Bible,  and  I  set  myself  to  read  it. 
What  I  should  have  made  out  of  it  without  any 
guidance  I  cannot  say,  but  one  day  I  mentioned 
to  a  lady,  who  was  visiting  us,  how  interested  I 
was  in  trying  to  understand  the  teaching  of  the 
Book  of  Romans,  but  how  difficult  1  found  it, 
when  she  said  she  had  a  little  book  which  had 
explained  it  to  her,  and  asked  if  she  might  give 
it  to  me.    1  accepted  it  eagerly,  and  found  it 


Second  Epoch  in  My  Religious  Life  175' 

most  enlightening.  It  set  forth  the  plan  of  sal- 
vation as  described  in  the  third,  fourth  and  fifth 
of  Romans  in  a  clear  businesslike  way  that  ap- 
pealed to  me  strongly.  It  stated  that  mankind 
were  all  sinners,  and  all  deserved  punishment — 
that  all  had  sinned  and  come  short  of  the  glory 
of  God,  and  that  there  was  none  righteous,  no 
not  one;  and  it  declared  that  therefore  every 
mouth  was  stopped  and  all  the  world  had  be- 
come guilty  before  God  (Rom.  3:  1-19).  it 
went  on  to  show  that  there  was  no  escape  from 
this  except  through  the  righteousness  of  Christ, 
which  was  "  unto  all  and  upon  all  them  that  be- 
lieve"; and  that  Christ  was  our  propitiation, 
through  whom  we  obtained  the  "remission  of 
sins  that  are  past"  (Rom.  3:20-26).  And  then 
it  pointed  out  that  by  this  process  all  boasting  on 
our  part  was  shut  out,  and  we  were  justified  be- 
fore God,  not  by  anything  we  had  done  or  could 
do,  but  by  what  our  Divine  Saviour  had  done  for 
us  (Rom.  3:27-31).  It  declared  that  Christ  was 
the  substitute  for  sinners — that  He  had  in  their 
place  borne  the  punishment  they  deserved,  and 
that  all  we  had  to  do  in  order  to  secure  the  full 
benefit  of  this  substitution,  was  simply  to  believe 
in  it,  and  accept  the  forgiveness  so  purchased. 

Of  course  this  was  a  very  legal  and  business- 
like interpretation  of  these  passages,  and  was 
not  at  all  the  interpretation  I  should  give  to  them 
now;  but  I  want  to  tell,  as  truthfully  as  I  can,  the 
way  things  impressed  me  then.  The  very  crude- 
ness  and  outwardness  of  the  interpretation  made 


176       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


it  easy  for  my  ignorance  to  grasp  it,  and  it  struck 
me  at  the  time  as  a  most  sensible  and  satisfactory 
arrangement,  h  was  a  "plan  of  salvation"  that 
1  could  understand.  There  was  nothing  mystical 
or  mysterious  about  it, — no  straining  after  emo- 
tions, no  looking  out  for  experiences.  It  was  all 
the  work  of  Another  done  for  me,  and  required  / 
nothing  on  my  part  but  a  simple  common-sense 
understanding  and  belief. 

Baldly  stated  it  was  as  follows.  We  were  all 
sinners,  and  therefore  all  deserved  punishment. 
But  Christ  had  taken  our  sins  upon  Himself  and 
had  borne  the  punishment  in  our  stead,  and 
therefore  an  angry  God  was  propitiated,  and  was 
willing  to  forgive  us  and  let  us  go  free.  Noth- 
ing could  be  more  plain  and  simple.  Even  a 
child  could  understand  it.  It  was  all  outside  of 
oneself,  and  there  need  be  no  searchings  within 
or  rakings  up  of  one's  inward  feelings  to  make 
things  right  with  God.  Christ  had  made  them 
right,  and  we  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  accept  it 
all  as  a  free  gift  from  Him.  Moreover,  a  God 
who  could  arrange  such  a  simple  plan  as  this, 
was  understandable  and  get-at-able,  and  1  began 
to  think  it  must  be  true. 

This  all  sounds  very  outward  and  very  crude; 
but,  after  all,  crude  as  it  seems,  there  was  behind  it 
the  great  bottom  fact  that  God  was,  somehow  or 
other,  in  Christ  reconciling  the  world  unto  Him- 
self ;  and  it  was  this  vital  fact  of  the  reconciliation 
between  God  and  man  that  had  laid  hold  of  me. 
And  I  believe  it  is  this  fact,  however  it  may  be 


Second  Epoch  in  My  Religious  Life  177 


expressed,  that  is  the  one  essential  thing  in  the 
outset  of  every  satisfactory  religious  life.  The 
soul  must  know  that  all  is  right  between  itself 
and  God  before  it  can  try,  with  any  heart,  to 
worship  and  serve  Him. 

1  had  discovered  this  vital  fact,  and  the  re- 
ligious life  had  begun  for  me  with  eager  and  en- 
thusiastic delight. 

In  my  diary  1  find  in  1858  the  following  en- 
tries:— 

"  Restoration  of  Belief." 

"August  20,  1858.  Am  I  really  coming  to 
Christ?  I  ask  myself  this  question  with  wonder 
and  amazement.  A  month  ago  it  seemed  so  ut- 
terly impossible.  But  I  believe  1  am.  It  seems  as 
if  these  truths  in  the  New  Testament  have  taken 
hold  of  my  soul,  and  I  cannot  gainsay  them. 
God  only  knows  what  the  end  will  be. 

"August  21,  1858.  Many  passages  of  Scripture 
have  been  impressed  on  my  mind  in  my  reading, 
and,  having  made  up  my  mind  simply  to  believe 
and  not  to  reason  or  question,  I  ^fofind  myself  in- 
evitably brought  to  Christ  as  my  Redeemer.  My 
watchword  for  the  last  few  weeks  has  been 
'Thus  saith  the  Lord 'as  a  conclusive  argument 
in  every  case. 

"August  30,  1858.  I  am  resting  now  simply  on 
God's  own  record  as  the  foundation  of  my  hope. 
He  says  Jesus  Christ  is  His  well  beloved  Son,  and 
I  believe  it.  He  says  further  that  He  gave  His 
Son  to  be  the  propitiation  for  our  sins,  and  I  be- 
lieve this  also.  He  is  my  Saviour,  not  only  my 
helper;  and  in  His  finished  work  1  rest.  Even 
my  hard  heart  of  unbelief  can  no  longer  refrain 


lyS       The  Unselfishness  of  God 

from  crying  out '  Lord,  I  believe.  Help  Thou  my 
unbelief.' 

"  September  13,  1858.  My  heart  is  filled  with 
the  exceeding  preciousness  of  Christ.  And  1  am 
lost  in  wonder  at  the  realization  of  His  infinite 
mercy  to  me,  who  am  so  utterly  unworthy  of  the 
least  favour  from  His  hands.  How  could  He  be 
so  tender  and  so  loving!  1  can  write  the  words, 
'  It  is  all  of  free  grace,'  but  they  only  feebly  con- 
vey the  deep  sense  1  have  of  the  infinite  freeness 
of  this  grace.  '  While  we  were  yet  sinners 
Christ  died  for  us.'  Could  anything  be  more  free 
than  this  ?  I  have  so  long  bewildered  myself 
with  trying  to  work  out  my  own  righteousness, 
and  have  found  such  weariness  in  it,  that  1  feel 
as  if  1  could  never  appreciate  deeply  enough  the 
blessed  rest  there  is  for  me  in  Christ.  '  He  was 
made  sin  for  us  who  knew  no  sin,  that  we  might 
be  made  the  righteousness  of  God  in  Him.'  No 
wonder  the  Apostle  cried  out  from  a  full  heart, 
'  Thanks  be  unto  God  for  His  unspeakable  gift! '  " 

My  diary  is  full  of  similar  records,  but  these 
will  suffice  to  tell  of  the  wonderful  discovery  I 
had  made.  I  want  it  to  be  clearly  understood 
that  it  all  came  to  me  as  a  discovery,  and  in  no 
sense  as  an  attainment.  I  had  been  seeking  after 
attainments  in  the  past,  but  now  1  had  lost  all 
thought  of  any  attainment  of  my  own  in  the  blaze 
of  my  discoveries  of  the  salvation  through  Christ. 
It  was  no  longer  in  the  slightest  degree  a  question 
of  what  1  was  or  what  1  could  do,  but  altogether 
a  question  of  what  God  was  and  of  what  He  had 
done.  1  seemed  to  have  left  myself,  as  myself, 
out  of  it  entirely,  and  to  care  only  to  find  out  all 
I  could  about  the  work  of  Christ. 


Second  Epoch  in  My  Religious  Life  179 

The  thing  that  amazed  me  was  how  I  could 
have  lived  so  long  in  a  world  that  contained  the 
Bible,  and  never  have  found  all  this  before.  Why 
had  nobody  ever  told  me  ?  How  could  people, 
who  had  found  it  out,  have  kept  such  a  marvel- 
lous piece  of  good  news  to  themselves  ?  Cer- 
tainly 1  could  not  keep  it  to  myself,  and  I  deter- 
mined that  no  one  whom  I  could  reach  should  be 
left  a  day  longer  in  ignorance,  as  far  as  I  could 
help  it.  1  began  to  buttonhole  everybody,  pulling 
them  into  corners  and  behind  doors  to  tell  them 
of  the  wonderful  and  delightful  things  I  had  dis- 
covered in  the  Bible  about  the  salvation  through 
the  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  It  seemed  to  me  the  most 
magnificent  piece  of  good  news  that  any  human 
being  had  ever  had  to  tell,  and  I  gloried  in  telling 
it. 

So  little  however  had  I  known  of  Christian  ideas 
and  Christian  nomenclature,  that  I  had  not  the 
least  conception  that  what  I  had  discovered  made 
any  difference  in  me  personally,  or  that  my  belief 
in  all  this  made  me  what  they  called  a  Christian. 
It  only  seemed  to  me  that  I  had  found  out  some- 
thing delightful  about  God,  which  had  filled  me 
with  happiness,  and  which  I  wanted  everybody 
else  to  know.  But  that  this  discovery  constituted 
what  was  called  "conversion,"  or  that  I  person- 
ally was  different  in  any  way  from  what  I  had 
been  before,  never  entered  my  head. 

One  day,  however,  a  "Plymouth  Brother" 
friend,  hearing  me  tell  my  story,  exclaimed 
"Thank  God,  Mrs.  Smith,  that  you  have  at  last 


l8o       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


become  a  Christian."  So  little  did  I  understand 
him,  that  I  promptly  replied,  "Oh,  no,  1  am  not 
a  Christian  at  all.  1  have  only  found  out  a  won- 
derful piece  of  good  news  that  1  never  knew  be- 
fore." "  But,"  he  persisted,  "that  very  discovery 
makes  you  a  Christian,  for  the  Bible  says  that 
whoever  believes  this  good  news  has  passed  from 
death  unto  life,  and  is  born  of  God.  You  have 
just  said  that  you  believe  it  and  rejoice  in  it,  so  of 
course  you  have  passed  from  death  unto  life  and 
are  born  of  God."  1  thought  for  a  moment,  and 
I  saw  the  logic  of  what  he  said.  There  was  no 
escaping  it.  And  with  a  sort  of  gasp  1  said, 
"Why,  so  1  must  be.  Of  course  1  believe  this 
good  news,  and  therefore  of  course  I  must  be 
born  of  God.    Well,  1  am  glad." 

From  that  moment  the  matter  was  settled,  and 
not  a  doubt  as  to  my  being  a  child  of  God  and 
the  possessor  of  eternal  life,  has  ever  had  the 
slightest  power  over  me  since.  I  rushed  to  my 
Bible  to  make  myself  sure  there  was  no  mistake, 
and  1  found  it  brimming  over  with  this  teaching. 
"He  that  believeth  hath,"  "  He  that  believeth  is." 
There  seemed  to  be  nothing  more  to  be  said  about 
it.  Three  passages  especially  struck  me.  i  John 
5:1,  "Whosoever  believeth  that  Jesus  is  the 
Christ  is  born  of  God;"  and  John  3:24,  "Verily, 
verily  I  say  unto  you,  He  that  heareth  My  word 
and  believeth  on  Him  that  sent  Me,  hath  everlast- 
ing life,  and  shall  not  come  into  condemnation, 
but  is  passed  from  death  unto  life;"  and  above 
all,  John  20:  30,  31,  "And  many  other  signs  truly 


Second  Epoch  in  My  Religious  Life  l8l 

did  Jesus  in  the  presence  of  His  disciples,  which 
are  not  written  in  this  book:  but  these  are  written, 
that  ye  might  believe  that  Jesus  is  the  Christ,  the 
Son  of  God;  and  that,  believing,  ye  might  have 
life  through  His  name." 

There  seemed  nothing  more  to  be  said.  There 
were  the  things  about  Christ,  written  in  the 
Bible,  as  clear  as  daylight,  and  1  believed  what 
was  written  with  all  my  heart  and  soul,  and 
therefore  1  could  not  doubt  that  1  was  one  of 
those  who  had  "life  through  His  name."  The 
question  was  settled  without  any  further  argu- 
ment. It  had  nothing  to  do  with  how  I  felt,  but 
only  with  what  God  had  said.  The  logic  seemed 
to  me  irresistible;  and  it  not  only  convinced  me 
then,  but  it  has  carried  me  triumphantly  through 
every  form  of  doubt  as  to  my  relations  with 
God  which  has  ever  assailed  me  since.  And  I 
can  recommend  it  as  an  infallible  receipt  to 
every  doubter. 

Of  course  at  once,  on  having  made  this  further 
discovery,  of  the  fact  that  I  was  a  Christian, 
I  began  to  add  it  to  the  story  I  had  already  been 
telling,  always  ending  my  recital  with  the  words 
— "And  now,  if  you  believe  all  this,  you  are  a 
Christian,  for  the  Bible  says  that  he  that  be- 
lieveth  is  born  of  God,  and  has  eternal  life." 

I  had  got  hold  of  that  which  is  the  necessary 
foundation  of  all  religion,  namely  reconciliation 
with  God,  and  had  had  my  first  glimpse  of  Him 
as  He  is  revealed  in  the  face  of  Jesus  Christ. 
All  my  fear  of  Him  had  vanished.    He  loved  me, 


l82       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


He  forgave  me,  He  was  on  my  side,  and  all  was 
right  between  us.  1  had  learned  moreover  that 
it  was  from  the  life  and  words  of  Christ  that  my 
knowledge  of  God  was  to  come,  and  not,  as  I 
had  always  thought,  from  my  own  inward  feel- 
ings; and  my  relief  was  inexpressible. 

I  can  see  now,  in  looking  back,  that  in 
many  respects  1  had  only  touched  the  surface  of 
the  spiritual  realities  hidden  under  the  doctrines 
I  had  so  eagerly  embraced.  I  was  as  yet  only  in 
the  beginning  of  things.  But  it  was  a  begin- 
ning in  the  right  direction,  and  was  the  introduc- 
tion to  the  "life  more  abundant"  which,  as  my 
story  will  show,  was  to  come  later.  Meanwhile 
1  had  got  my  first  glimpse  of  the  unselfishness 
of  God.  As  yet  it  was  only  a  glimpse,  but 
it  was  enough  to  make  me  radiantly  happy. 


XIX 


THE  ASSURANCE  OF  FAITH 

I WAS  so  filled  with  enthusiasm  over  my 
discovery,  that  nothing  else  seemed  to  me  of 
the  slightest  importance;  and,  as  I  have 
said,  1  attacked  every  friend  I  had  on  the  subject, 
and  insisted  on  knowing  whether  they  too  had 
found  out  the  transcendent  fact  that  their  sins 
were  all  forgiven,  and  that  they  were  the 
children  of  God.  1  simply  compelled  them  to 
listen,  whether  they  wanted  to  or  not,  for  it 
seemed  to  me  the  most  pitiful  thing  conceivable 
that  anybody  should  fail  to  know  it,  while  I  was 
alive  to  tell  it.  And  I  must  say  that  nearly 
every  one  I  spoke  to,  partly  perhaps  because  of 
their  surprise  at  being  attacked  so  vigorously, 
listened  with  eager  interest,  and  sooner  or  later 
embraced  the  views  I  so  enthusiastically  de- 
clared. Very  many  of  my  friends  of  course 
really  were  already  Christians,  but  had  hardly 
dared  to  think  themselves  so;  and  to  them  my 
teaching  brought  the  assurance  of  faith  they  so 
sorely  needed. 

In  fact  it  seemed  to  me  such  a  wonderful  bit 
of  good  news,  that  1  thought  if  I  would  go  into 
the  street  and  stand  at  the  corners,  and  begin  to 
tell  it,  everybody  would  open  the  doors  and 
^83 


184       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


windows  to  listen  to  my  story.  I  felt  like  a 
herald  marching  through  the  corridors  of  a 
prison,  with  a  proclamation  from  the  King,  of 
free  pardon  to  every  prisoner.  Paul's  message 
in  the  Synagogue  of  the  Jews  at  Antioch,  when 
he  spoke  to  tnem  about  Jesus,  and  said,  "Be  it 
known  unto  you  therefore,  men  and  brethren, 
that  through  this  man  is  preached  unto  you  the 
forgiveness  of  sins;  and  by  Him  all  that  believe 
are  justified  from  all  things  from  which  ye  could 
not  be  justified  by  the  law  of  Moses,"  was  my 
message;  and  the  marvel  to  me  was  that  every 
prisoner  did  not  at  once,  on  hearing  it,  open  the 
door  of  his  cell  and  walk  out  a  free  man.  It 
seemed  to  me  superlatively  silly  for  any  one,  in 
the  face  of  such  a  proclamation,  to  hesitate  a 
single  moment.  Why  should  they  worry  about 
their  sins,  when  God  had  so  plainly  declared  that 
Christ  had  borne  their  sins  in  "  His  own  body  on 
the  tree,"  and  had  taken  them  away  forever? 
Why  should  they  fear  God's  anger,  when  the 
Bible  had  assured  us  that  "God  was  in  Christ 
reconciling  the  world  unto  Himself,  not  im- 
puting their  trespasses  unto  them  "  ?  All  these 
wretched  doubts  and  fears  seemed  then,  and 
have  always  seemed  since,  not  only  irreligious 
and  a  libel  against  the  trustworthiness  of  God, 
but  also  as  an  evidence  of  a  great  lack  of  good 
sense.  Either  God  is  true,  or  He  is  a  liar.  If  I 
believe  He  is  true,  then  good  sense  demands 
that  I  should  accept  His  statements  as  the  state- 
ments of  facts,  and  should  rest  in  them  as  facts. 


The  Assurance  of  Faith  185 


One  of  the  most  helpful  things  to  me  at  this 
time  was  a  tract  called  "The  Fox  Hunter"  by 
Caesar  Malan.  It  was  the  clearest  and  most  log- 
ical presentation  of  justification  by  faith  that  I 
have  ever  come  across,  and  it  proved  to  me  be- 
yond the  possibility  of  question  that  the  "assur- 
ance of  faith  "  was  at  once  the  only  biblical 
ground  any  one  could  take,  and  also  the  only 
common-sense  ground  as  well.  The  foxes  in 
this  tract  were  doubts,  and  the  hunter  was  the 
preacher  who  caught  and  killed  them.  And  its 
whole  teaching  was,  that  if  God  said  Christ  had 
taken  away  our  sins,  then  He  certainly  had  done 
so,  and  they  were  of  course  gone,  and  it  was  not 
only  folly  but  also  presumption  in  us  not  to  be- 
lieve it. 

1  continually  asked  myself  why  every  preacher 
did  not  tell  out  these  facts  clearly  and  fully 
so  that  no  one  could  fail  to  understand  them  ? 
And  1  felt  this  so  strongly  that,  whenever  I  heard 
sermons  that  seemed  to  leave  the  matter  uncer- 
tain, or  confused,  I  thought  nothing  of  going  up 
to  the  preachers  afterwards  and  expostulating 
with  them,  because  they  had  not  clearly  preached 
the  Gospel  of  Christ.  I  am  convinced,  in  looking 
back  now,  that  1  must  have  made  myself  a  gen- 
eral nuisance  to  our  dear  Quaker  preachers, 
whose  preaching  I  confess  was  not  often  in  those 
days  of  this  definite  sort;  but  the  truth  was  that 
what  1  had  discovered  seemed  to  me  of  such 
paramount  and  overwhelming  importance,  that 
no  other  consideration  was  worth  a  moment's 


l86       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


notice.  To  be  in  a  world  full  of  sinners,  who 
did  not  know  that  their  sins  were  forgiven,  and 
that  they  were  the  children  of  God,  and  who 
might  know  it,  if  only  some  one  would  tell 
them,  seemed  to  me  such  a  tremendous  respon- 
sibility, that  1  felt  compelled  to  tell  it  to  every  one 
I  could  reach.  The  dear  quiet  Friends  could  not 
understand  such  excessive,  and,  I  dare  say,  un- 
wise zeal,  and  my  visits  at  any  of  their  houses 
were  fairly  dreaded.  Even  my  brothers-in-law 
were  almost  afraid  to  have  me  visit  my  own  sis- 
ters, and  in  many  ways  1  went  through  a  sort  of 
persecution,  which  no  doubt  1  largely  brought 
upon  myself  by  my  unadvised  zeal,  but  which  at 
the  time  seemed  to  me  a  martyrdom  for  the  truth. 

h  is  not  often,  I  think,  that  the  story  of  the 
Gospel  comes  so  vividly  to  any  one  as  it  did  to 
me.  But  from  the  fact  that,  as  a  Quaker,  I  had 
had  no  doctrinal  teaching,  all  that  1  was  learning 
about  the  salvation  in  Christ  came  in  a  perfect 
blaze  of  illumination.  The  Bible  seemed  fairly 
radiant  with  the  "  glad  tidings  of  great  joy,"  and 
I  wondered  every  one  did  not  see  it.  As  I  knew 
literally  nothing  of  Theology,  and  had  never  heard 
any  theological  terms,  1  took  the  whole  Gospel 
story  in  the  most  common  sense  way  possible, 
and  believed  it  without  any  reservations.  1  often 
said  1  was  like  a  prisoner  who  had  come  out  of  a 
dark  underground  cell  into  the  light  of  ten  thou- 
sand suns.  And  in  spite  of  all  the  disapproval 
and  opposition  of  the  Elders  and  Overseers  among 
the  Quakers,  and  of  my  own  family  as  well,  my 


The  Assurance  of  Faith  187 


enthusiasm  gained  me  a  inearing,  and  nearly 
every  friend  1  had  came,  sooner  or  later,  into  a 
knowledge  of  the  truths  1  advocated,  and  more 
or  less  shared  my  rejoicing;  so  that  gradually  the 
opposition  died  down,  and  in  the  end,  while  the 
"solid  Friends"  could  not  fully  endorse  me, 
they  at  least  left  me  free  to  continue  my  course 
unmolested. 

No  doubt  the  crudeness  of  my  views  was  very 
patent  to  the  more  advanced  spiritual  Christians 
around  me,  and  1  feel  sure  now  that  a  large  part 
of  the  opposition  1  met  with  arose  from  this  fact. 
But  while  I  might  wish  my  views  had  been  more 
mature,  I  can  never  regret  the  enthusiasm  that 
made  me  so  eager  to  tell  out  to  every  one  the 
best  1  knew. 

And  even  the  opposition  was  blessed  to  me,  for 
it  taught  me  some  most  invaluable  lessons.  I 
came  across  a  book  in  those  days,  the  name  of 
which  I  regret  to  say  I  have  forgotten,  which 
helped  me  enormously.  Its  central  thought  was 
that  one  of  the  richest  gifts  a  Christian  could 
have  was  the  gift  of  persecution,  and  that  to  be 
like  the  Master  in  being  rejected  of  men,  was  the 
highest  dignity  to  which  a  Christian  could  attain. 
It  taught  that  he  was  the  greatest  Christian  who 
was  willing  to  take  the  lowest  place,  and  that  to 
become  the  chief  of  all  could  only  be  attained  by 
becoming  the  servant  of  all.  1  was  so  impressed 
by  this  teaching  that  1  tried  to  put  it  in  practice; 
and,  whenever  1  expected  in  any  interview  to  meet 
with  reproof  or  opposition,  1  would  always  be- 


l88       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


forehand  pray  fervently  that  I  might  receive  it  in 
a  true  Christian  spirit.  I  was  much  helped,  too, 
by  a  saying  of  Madame  Guyon's,  that  she  had 
learned  to  be  thankful  for  every  snub  and  morti- 
fication, because  she  had  found  that  they  helped 
to  advance  her  in  the  spiritual  life;  and  in  time  I 
learned  something  of  the  same  lesson. 

The  especial  advantage  1  gained  from  the  dis- 
approval 1  met  with  was  that  it  took  a  great  deal 
of  the  conceit  out  of  me.  I  had  it  so  rubbed 
into  me  that  1  was  altogether  wrong  and  foolish, 
and  was  only  tolerated  because  of  the  kindness 
of  my  friends,  that  1  really  came  at  last  to  have  a 
sort  of  instinctive  feeling  that  1  deserved  nothing 
but  snubs  and  reproaches,  and  that  any  unkind- 
ness  that  might  be  shown  me  was  only  my  just 
desert.  In  fact  1  got  into  the  habit  of  never  ex- 
pecting anything  else,  and  ceased  to  think  I  had 
any  rights  that  others  ought  not  to  trample  on. 
This  habit  of  mind  has  given  me  the  greatest  lib- 
erty of  spirit  through  all  my  life  since,  as  I  have 
never  been  obliged,  as  so  many  people  seem  to 
be,  to  stand  up  for  my  rights,  and  have  in  fact 
scarcely  ever  had  the  sense  to  see  when  I  have 
been  slighted.  If  one  has  no  rights,  their  rights 
cannot  be  trampled  on,  and  if  one  has  no  feel- 
ings, their  feelings  cannot  be  hurt.  So  deeply 
was  this  lesson  engraved  upon  my  soul  by  what 
I  went  through  at  the  time  of  which  1  am  speak- 
ing, that  to  this  day  I  am  always  surprised  at  any 
kindness  that  is  shewn  me,  as  at  something  en- 
tirely unexpected  and  undeserved.    1  do  not 


The  Assurance  of  Faith  189 


know  any  lesson  I  have  ever  learned  that  has 
been  so  practically  helpful  as  this  lesson,  learned 
from  the  opposition  I  met  with  in  the  early  years 
of  my  Christian  experience;  although  1  have  no 
doubt,  as  I  have  said,  that  I  brought  my  trials 
largely  upon  myself,  by  my  crudeness  and  my 
ignorance. 

Crude  and  ignorant  as  I  was,  I  had  however, 
as  I  have  said,  got  a  firm  grip  on  one  magnificent 
foundation  truth  that  nothing  has  ever  been  able 
to  shake,  and  this  was  that  God  was  in  Christ 
reconciling  the  world  unto  Himself,  not  imputing 
their  trespasses  unto  them.  All  was  right  between 
my  soul  and  God.  He  was  my  Father,  and  I  was 
His  child,  and  I  had  nothing  to  fear.  It  was  no 
matter  that  1  had  got  hold  of  it  in  a  crude  sort  of 
way.  The  thing  was  that  I  had  got  hold  of  it. 
There  it  was — the  grand  central  fact  of  God's 
love  and  God's  forgiveness,  and  my  soul  was  at 
rest  about  this  forever. 


XX 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  RELIGIOUS  LIFE 


HE  disapproval  of  my  own  religious 


society,  in  these  early  stages  of  my  new 


JL  life,  threw  me  very  much  under  the  in- 
fluence of  the  Plymouth  Brethren,  who  were  at 
that  time  making  quite  a  stir  in  Philadelphia,  and 
whose  clear  teaching  of  doctrines,  and  especially 
of  the  doctrine  of  "justification  by  faith,"  was 
particularly  congenial  to  my  new  way  of  looking 
at  things.  They  were  great  Bible  students,  and 
I  soon  found  under  their  teaching  a  fascinating 
interest  in  Bible  study,  it  was  all  new  ground 
to  me,  and  I  went  into  it  with  the  greatest 
avidity.  So  delighted  was  I  with  the  treasures  I 
found  in  its  pages,  that  at  first  my  one  fear  was 
lest,  as  the  Bible  was  such  a  short  book,  I  should 
soon  exhaust  it,  and  come  to  the  end  of  its  de- 
lights, and  1  used  to  stint  myself  to  small  portions 
in  order  to  spin  it  out  the  longer.  But  1  soon 
found  that  this  was  not  at  all  necessary,  as  the 
more  I  studied,  the  more  I  found  there  was  to 
study,  and  each  passage  seemed  to  have  a  thou- 
sand continually  unfolding  meanings.  The  book 
was  no  larger  than  I  thought,  but  it  was  infinitely 


190 


The  Romance  of  the  Religious  Life  191 


deeper.  It  seemed  to  me  something  as  if  the 
truths  in  the  Bible  were  covered  with  a  multitude 
of  skins,  and  as  if,  as  I  studied,  one  skin  after 
another  was  peeled  off,  leaving  the  words  the 
same,  but  the  meaning  of  those  words  deeper 
and  higher.  1  can  never  be  thankful  enough  to 
the  Plymouth  Brethren  for  introducing  me  to  the 
fascinations  of  Bible  study. 

It  was  a  wonderful  and  delightful  life  I  had  now 
begun  to  live.  I  had  begun  to  know  God,  and  I 
was  finding  Him  to  be  lovely  and  lovable  beyond 
my  fondest  imaginings.  The  romance  of  my 
life  had  dawned.  I  cannot  say  how  religion 
may  have  affected  other  people,  but  to  me  my 
religion  has  been  all  through  a  fascinating  and 
ever  unfolding  romance.  If  for  nothing  else,  I 
pity  the  poor  unfortunate  Agnostics  of  the  pres- 
ent day  for  their  missing  of  this  most  delightful 
of  all  romances.  They  can  have  nothing  I  am 
sure  in  all  their  lives  to  equal  it.  The  nearest  ap- 
proach that  I  can  think  of  to  a  like  experience  is 
the  delight  of  exploring  an  unknown  science,  or 
a  new  field  of  mental  research;  but  even  that 
cannot  equal,  I  am  sure,  the  delights  of  exploring 
the  Science  of  God.  Imagine  it  for  a  moment. 
To  have  got  on  the  track  of  a  real  acquaintance 
with  the  ways  and  character  of  God,  the  Creator 
of  heaven  and  earth,  and  to  be  making  continually 
fresh  discoveries  of  new  and  delightful  things 
about  Him — what  scientific  research  could  be  as 
entrancing?  All  that  I  had  longed  for  and  agon- 
ized over  in  my  first  awakening,  was  coming  to 


192       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


me  in  clearest  vision,  day  by  day,  and  the  ever 
recurring  delight  of  new  revelations  and  new 
ideas  was  more  delicious  than  words  could 
express.  Then  too  the  joy  of  telling  it  all  to 
others,  and  the  enormous  satisfaction  of  seeing 
their  faces  lighten,  and  their  hearts  expand,  as 
their  souls  made  the  same  discoveries  as  my 
own.  Ah,  no  one  who  has  not  experienced  it, 
can  know  the  fascination  of  it  all! 

I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  1  discovered  every- 
thing at  once,  nor  even  that  all  I  thought  I  had 
discovered  proved  to  be  permanent  truth.  My 
story,  as  1  continue,  will  show  that  this  was  not 
the  case.  Like  all  novices  in  scientific  research, 
I  grasped  many  half  truths,  and  came  to  many 
false  conclusions.  But  the  search  of  itself  was 
delicious,  and  the  finding  out  of  one's  mistakes 
far  surpassed  the  mortification  at  having  made 
them. 

My  soul  had  started  on  its  voyage  of  discovery, 
and  to  become  acquainted  with  God  was  its  un- 
alterable and  unceasing  aim.  I  was  as  yet  only 
at  the  beginning,  but  what  a  magnificent  begin- 
ning it  was.  God  was  a  reality,  and  He  was  my 
God.  He  had  created  me,  and  He  loved  me,  and 
all  was  right  between  us.  All  care  about  my 
own  future  destiny  had  been  removed  from  my 
shoulders.  I  could  say  with  Paul,  "I  know 
whom  1  have  believed,  and  am  persuaded  that 
He  is  able  to  keep  that  which  1  have  committed 
unto  Him  against  that  day."  I  needed  no  longer 
to  work  for  my  soul's  salvation,  but  only  to  work 


The  Romance  of  the  Religious  Life  193 

out  the  salvation  that  had  been  bestowed  upon 
me.  All  the  years  of  my  self-introversion  and 
self-examination  were  ended.  Instead  of  my  old 
fruitless  searchings  into  my  feelings  and  emotions 
for  some  tangible  evidence  of  God's  favour,  the 
glorious  news,  declared  in  the  Bible,  that  He  so 
loved  the  world  as  to  have  sent  His  only  be- 
gotten Son  to  save  the  world,  absorbed  every 
faculty. 

It  was  no  longer  "  How  do  I  feel  ?  "  but  always 
"  What  does  God  say  ?  "  And  He  said  such  de- 
lightful things,  that  to  find  them  out  became  my 
supreme  delight.  1  do  not  mean  what  He  said  to 
me  personally  in  my  heart,  but  what  He  had  said 
to  every  human  being  in  the  Bible — the  good 
news  of  salvation  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 
Anything  said  to  myself  alone  might  be  open  to 
doubt,  as  to  whether  it  was  really  myself  who 
was  meant,  but  anything  said  to  the  whole  world 
could  not  help  including  me,  and  I  greedily  ap- 
propriated it  all. 

This  went  on  for  several  years,  during  which  I 
had  a  really  glorious  time.  Between  the  joys  of 
discovery  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  joys  of  telling 
others  about  my  discoveries  on  the  other,  my 
cup  of  the  wine  of  life  was  full  and  overflowing. 
I  had  plenty  of  earthly  trials,  but  somehow  they 
were  in  the  background  compared  to  the  fasci- 
nations of  my  religious  life.  Nothing  that  be- 
longed only  to  the  earthly  life  could  really  matter, 
when  one's  soul  was  daily  tasting  the  blissful 
joy  of  reconciliation  with  God,  and  of  being 


The  Unselfishness  of  God 


made  a  partaker  of  the  glorious  salvation  of  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ. 

And  yet  how  little  I  knew,  even  of  this,  com- 
pared with  what  was  to  cornel 


XXI 


QUESTIONINGS 

DURING  all  the  years  of  which  I  speak 
the  Plymouth  Brethren  were,  as  1  have 
said,  among  my  principal  teachers.  But 
I  began  gradually  to  find  some  things  in  their 
teaching  that  1  could  not  accept;  and  this  was  es- 
pecially the  case  with  their  extreme  Calvinism. 

There  have  always  been,  1  believe,  differences 
of  opinion  among  them  in  regard  to  this  view; 
but  those  with  whom  1  was  thrown  held  very 
rigidly  the  belief  that  some  people  were  ' '  elected  " 
to  salvation,  and  some  were  elected  to  "repro- 
bation," and  that  nothing  the  individual  could  do 
could  change  these  eternal  decrees.  IVe  of 
course  were  among  those  elected  to  salvation, 
and  for  this  we  were  taught  to  be  profoundly 
thankful.  I  tried  hard  to  fall  in  with  this.  It 
seemed  difficult  to  believe  that  those  who  had 
taught  me  so  much  could  possibly  be  mistaken 
on  such  a  vital  point.  But  my  soul  revolted  from 
it  more  and  more.  How  could  1  be  content  in 
knowing  that  1  myself  was  sure  of  Heaven, 
when  other  poor  souls,  equally  deserving,  but 
who  had  not  had  my  chances,  were  "elected," 
for  no  fault  of  their  own,  but  in  the  eternal  de- 
crees of  God,  to  "  reprobation  "  ?  Such  a  doc- 
195 


19^)       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


trine  seemed  to  me  utterly  inconsistent  with  the 
proclamation  of  forgiveness  that  had  so  en- 
tranced me.  I  could  not  find  any  limitations  in 
this  proclamation,  and  1  could  not  believe  there 
were  any  secret  limitations  in  the  mind  of  the 
God  who  had  made  it.  Neither  could  I  see  how 
a  Creator  could  be  just,  even  if  He  were  not 
loving,  in  consigning  some  of  the  creatures  He 
Himself,  and  no  other,  had  created,  to  the  eternal 
torment  of  hell,  let  them  be  as  great  sinners  as 
they  might  be.  I  felt  that  if  this  doctrine  were 
true,  1  should  be  wofully  disappointed  in  the  God 
whom  1  had,  with  so  much  rapture,  discovered. 

1  could  not  fail  to  see,  moreover,  that,  after  all, 
each  one  of  us  was  largely  a  creature  of  circum- 
stance— that  what  we  were,  and  what  we  did, 
was  more  or  less  the  result  of  our  temperaments, 
of  our  inherited  characteristics,  of  our  social  sur- 
roundings, and  of  our  education;  and  that,  as 
these  were  all  providentially  arranged  for  us, 
with  often  no  power  on  our  part  to  alter  them, 
it  would  not  be  just  in  the  God  who  had  placed 
us  in  their  midst,  to  let  them  determine  our 
eternal  destiny. 

As  an  escape  from  the  doctrine  of  eternal  tor- 
ment, 1  at  first  embraced  the  doctrine  of  annihi- 
lation for  the  wicked,  and  for  a  little  while  tried 
to  comfort  myself  with  the  belief  that  this  life 
ended  all  for  them.  But  the  more  I  thought  of 
it,  the  more  it  seemed  to  me  that  it  would  be  a 
confession  of  serious  failure  on  the  part  of  the 
Creator,  if  He  could  find  no  way  out  of  the  prob- 


Questionings 


197 


lem  of  His  creation,  but  to  annihilate  the  creatures 
whom  He  had  created. 

Unconsciously,  one  of  my  children  gave  me  an 
illustration  of  this.  She  waked  me  up  one  morn- 
ing to  tell  me  that  she  had  been  lying  in  bed 
having  great  fun  in  pretending  that  she  had 
made  a  man.  She  described  the  colour  of  his 
h:ur  and  his  eyes,  his  figure,  his  height,  his 
power,  his  wisdom,  and  all  the  grand  things  he 
was  going  to  do,  and  was  very  enthusiastic  in 
her  evident  delight  in  the  joy  of  creation.  When 
she  had  finished  enumerating  all  the  magnificent 
qualities  of  her  man,  I  said  to  her,  "  But,  dar- 
ling, suppose  he  should  turn  out  badly;  suppose 
he  should  do  mischief  and  hurt  people,  and  make 
things  go  wrong,  what  would  thee  do  then  ?  " 
"  Oh,"  she  said,  "  1  would  not  have  any  trouble; 
I'd  just  make  him  lie  down  and  chop  his  head 
off." 

I  saw  at  once  what  a  splendid  illustration  this 
was  of  the  responsibility  of  a  Creator,  and  it 
brought  to  my  mind  Mrs.  Shelley's  weird  story 
of  the  artist  Frankenstein,  who  made  the  mon- 
strous image  of  a  man,  which,  when  it  was 
finished,  suddenly,  to  his  horror,  became  alive, 
and  went  out  into  the  world,  working  havoc 
wherever  it  went.  The  horrified  maker  felt 
obliged  to  follow  his  handiwork  everywhere, 
in  order  to  try  and  undo  a  little  of  the  mischief 
that  had  been  done,  and  to  remedy  as  far  as  pos- 
sible the  evils  it  had  caused.  The  awful  sense  of 
responsibility  that  rested  upon  him,  because  of 


igS       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


the  things  done  by  the  creature  he  had  created, 
opened  my  eyes  to  see  the  responsibility  God 
must  necessarily  feel,  if  the  creatures  He  had 
created  were  to  turn  out  badly.  I  could  not  be- 
lieve He  would  torment  them  forever;  and  neither 
could  I  rest  in  the  thought  of  annihilation  as  His 
best  remedy  for  sin.  1  felt  hopeless  of  reconciling 
the  love  and  the  justice  of  the  Creator  with  the 
fate  of  His  creatures,  and  1  knew  not  which  way 
to  turn.  But  deliverance  was  at  hand,  and  the 
third  epoch  in  my  Christian  experience  was  about 
to  dawn. 


XXII 


THE  THIRD  EPOCH  IN  MY  RELIGIOUS  LIFE 
(THE  RESTITUTION  OF  ALL  THINGS) 

A    S  I  stated  in  the  last  chapter,  after  a  few 


X  JLgood  news  of  salvation  through  Christ 
for  myself  and  for  those  who  thought  as  I  did, 
my  heart  began  to  reach  out  after  those  who 
thought  differently,  and  especially  after  those 
who,  by  reason  of  the  providential  circumstances 
of  their  birth  and  their  surroundings,  had  had  no 
fair  chance  in  life.  1  could  not  but  see  that 
ignorance  of  God,  and,  as  a  result,  lives  of  sin, 
seemed  the  almost  inevitable  fate  of  a  vast  num- 
ber of  my  fellow  human  beings,  and  I  could  not 
reconcile  it  with  the  justice  of  God,  that  these  un- 
fortunate mortals  should  be  doomed  to  eternal 
torment  because  of  those  providential  circum- 
stances, for  which  they  were  not  responsible,  and 
from  which,  in  a  large  majority  of  cases,  they 
could  not  escape.  The  fact  that  I,  who  no 
more  deserved  it  than  they,  should  have  been 
brought  to  the  knowledge  of  the  truth,  while 
they  were  left  out  in  the  cold,  became  so  burden- 
some to  me,  that  I  often  felt  as  if  I  would  gladly 
give  up  my  own  salvation,  if  by  this  means 


of  exuberant  enjoyment  in  the 


199 


200       The  Unselfishness  of  God 

1  could  bestow  it  upon  those  who  had  been  placed 
in  less  fortunate  circumstances  than  myself. 

I  began  to  feel  that  the  salvation  in  which 
1  had  been  rejoicing  was,  after  all,  a  very  limited 
and  a  very  selfish  salvation,  and,  as  such,  un- 
worthy of  the  Creator  who  has  declared  so 
emphatically  that  His  "tender  mercies  are  over 
all  His  works,"  and  above  all  unworthy  of  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ,  who  came  into  the  world  for 
the  sole  and  single  purpose  of  saving  the  world. 
I  could  not  believe  that  His  life  and  death  for  us 
could  be  meant  to  fall  so  far  short  of  remedying 
the  evil  that  He  came  on  purpose  to  remedy,  and 
I  felt  it  must  be  impossible  that  there  could  be 
any  short-coming  in  the  salvation  He  had  pro- 
vided. I  began  to  be  convinced  that  my  diffi- 
culties had  simply  arisen  from  a  misunderstanding 
of  the  plians  of  God,  and  1  set  myself  to  discover 
my  mistakes. 

As  1  have  said,  my  first  refuge  had  been  in  the 
annihilation  of  the  wicked.  But  this  had  very 
soon  seemed  unworthy  of  a  wise  and  good 
Creator,  and  a  very  sad  confession  of  fail- 
ure on  His  part,  and  I  could  not  reconcile  it  with 
either  His  omnipotence  or  His  omniscience.  I 
began  to  be  afraid  I  was  going  to  be  disappointed 
in  God.  But  one  day  a  revelation  came  to 
me  that  vindicated  Him,  and  that  settled  the 
whole  question  forever. 

We  very  often  had  revivalist  preachers  staying 
with  us,  as  we  sought  every  opportunity  of 
helping  forward  what  we  called  "gospel  work." 


Third  Epoch  in  My  Religious  Life  201 


Among  the  rest  there  came  one  who  was  very 
full  of  the  idea  that  it  was  the  privilege  and  duty 
of  the  Christian  to  share,  in  a  very  especial  man- 
ner, in  the  sufferings  of  Christ,  as  well  as  in  His 
joys.  He  seemed  to  think  our  doing  so  would 
in  some  way  help  those  who  knew  nothing 
of  the  salvation  in  Christ;  and  he  had  adopted 
the  plan  of  making  strong  appeals  on  the  subject 
in  his  meetings,  and  of  asking  Christians,  who 
were  willing,  for  the  sake  of  others,  to  take 
a  share  of  these  sufferings  upon  themselves, 
to  "come  forward"  to  a  front  bench  in  the 
meeting  to  pray  that  it  might  be  granted  them. 
Somehow  it  all  sounded  very  grand  and  heroic, 
and  it  fitted  in  so  exactly  with  my  longings 
to  help  my  less  fortunate  fellow  human  beings, 
that,  although  1  did  not  go  "forward"  for 
prayer  at  any  of  his  meetings,  1  did  begin  to 
pray  privately  in  a  blind  sort  of  way,  that  I 
might  come  into  the  experience,  whatever  it  was. 
The  result  was  very  different  from  what  I  had 
expected,  but  it  was  far  more  tremendous. 

I  had  expected  to  enter  into  a  feeling  of 
Christ's  own  personal  sufferings  in  the  life  and 
death  He  bore  for  our  sakes,  but  instead  I  seemed 
to  have  a  revelation,  not  of  His  sufferings  be- 
cause of  sin,  but  of  ours.  1  seemed  to  get  a 
sight  of  the  misery  and  anguish  caused  to  hu- 
manity by  the  entrance  of  sin  into  the  world, 
and  of  Christ's  sorrow,  not  for  His  own  suffer- 
ings because  of  it,  but  for  the  sufferings  of  the 
poor  human  beings  who  had  been  cursed  by  it. 


202       The  Unselfishness  of  God 

I  seemed  to  understand  something  of  what  must 
necessarily  be  His  anguish  at  the  sight  of  the 
awful  fate  which  had  been  permitted  to  befall 
the  human  race,  and  of  His  joy  that  He  could  do 
something  to  alleviate  it.  1  saw  that  ours  was 
the  suffering,  and  that  His  was  the  joy  of  sacri- 
ficing Himself  to  save  us.  I  felt  that  if  I  had 
been  a  Divine  Creator,  and  had  allowed  such  an 
awful  fate  to  befall  the  creatures  I  had  made, 
I  would  have  been  filled  with  anguish,  and 
would  have  realized  that  simple  justice,  even  if 
not  love,  required  that  I  should  find  some 
remedy  for  it.  And  1  knew  1  could  not  be  more 
just  than  God.  I  echoed  in  my  heart  over  and 
over  again  the  lines  found  by  one  of  George 
Macdonald's  characters  engraved  on  a  tomb- 
stone. 

"  Oh,  Thou,  who  didst  the  serpent  make, 
Our  pardon  give,  and  pardon  take." 

I  had  been  used  to  hear  a  great  deal  about  the 
awfulness  of  our  sins  against  God,  but  now 
I  asked  myself,  what  about  the  awfulness  of  our 
fate  in  having  been  made  sinners?  Would  I  not 
infinitely  rather  that  a  sin  should  be  committed 
against  myself,  than  that  1  should  commit  a  sin 
against  any  one  else?  Was  it  not  a  far  more 
dreadful  thing  to  be  made  a  sinner  than  to  be 
merely  sinned  against  ?  And  1  began  to  see 
that,  since  God  had  permitted  sin  to  enter  into 
the  world,  it  must  necessarily  be  that  He  would 
be  compelled,  in  common  fairness,  to  provide 


Third  Epoch  in  My  Religious  Life  203 


a  remedy  that  would  be  equal  to  the  disease.  I 
remembered  some  mothers  I  had  known,  with 
children  suffering  from  inherited  diseases,  who 
were  only  too  thankful  to  lay  down  their  lives  in 
self-sacrifice  for  their  children,  if  so  be  they 
might,  in  any  way,  be  able  to  undo  the  harm  they 
had  done  in  bringing  them  into  the  world  under 
such  disastrous  conditions;  and  1  asked  myself. 
Could  God  do  less  ?  I  saw  that,  when  weighed 
in  a  balance  of  wrong  done,  we,  who  had  been 
created  sinners,  had  infinitely  more  to  forgive 
than  any  one  against  whom  we  might  have 
sinned. 

The  vividness  with  which  all  this  came  to 
me  can  never  be  expressed.  1  did  not  think 
it,  or  imagine  it,  or  suppose  it.  1  saw  it.  It 
was  a  revelation  of  the  real  nature  of  things 
— not  according  to  the  surface  conventional 
ideas,  but  according  to  the  actual  bottom  facts — 
and  it  could  not  be  gainsaid. 

In  every  human  face  I  saw,  there  seemed  to 
be  unveiled  before  me  the  story  of  the  misery 
and  anguish  caused  by  the  entrance  of  sin  into 
the  world.  I  knew  that  God  must  see  this  with 
far  clearer  eyes  than  mine,  and  therefore  I  felt 
sure  that  the  suffering  of  this  sight  to  Him  must 
be  infinitely  beyond  what  it  was  to  me,  almost 
unbearable  as  that  seemed.  And  I  began  to 
understand  how  it  was  that  the  least  He  could  do 
would  be  to  embrace  with  untold  gladness 
anything  that  would  help  to  deliver  the  beings  He 
had  created  from  such  awful  misery. 


204       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


It  was  a  never  to  be  forgotten  insight  into  the 
world's  anguish  because  of  sin! 

How  long  it  lasted  I  cannot  remember,  but, 
while  it  lasted,  it  almost  crushed  me.  And  as  it 
always  came  afresh  at  the  sight  of  a  strange  face, 
1  found  myself  obliged  to  wear  a  thick  veil  when- 
ever 1  went  into  the  streets,  in  order  that  1  might 
spare  myself  the  awful  realization. 

One  day  1  was  riding  on  a  tram-car  along  Mar- 
ket Street,  Philadelphia,  when  I  saw  two  men 
come  in  and  seat  themselves  opposite  to  me.  I 
saw  them  dimly  through  my  veil,  but  congratu- 
lated myself  that  it  was  only  dimly,  as  I  was  thus 
spared  the  wave  of  anguish  that  had  so  often 
swept  over  me  at  the  full  sight  of  a  strange  face. 
The  conductor  came  for  his  fare,  and  I  was 
obliged  to  raise  my  veil  in  order  to  count  it  out. 
As  I  raised  it,  1  got  a  sight  of  the  faces  of  those 
two  men,  and  with  an  overwhelming  flood  of 
anguish,  I  seemed  to  catch  a  fresh  and  clearer 
revelation  of  the  depths  of  the  misery  that  had 
been  caused  to  human  beings  by  sin.  It  was 
more  than  1  could  bear.  I  clenched  my  hands  and 
cried  out  in  my  soul,  "  Oh,  God,  how  canst  Thou 
bear  it.?  Thou  mightest  have  prevented  it,  but 
didst  not.  Thou  mightest  even  now  change  it,  but 
Thou  dost  not.  I  do  not  see  how  Thou  canst  go 
on  living,  and  endure  it."  I  upbraided  God.  And 
I  felt  1  was  justified  in  doing  so.  Then  suddenly 
God  seemed  to  answer  me.  An  inward  voice 
said,  in  tones  of  infinite  love  and  tenderness, 
"  He  shall  see  of  the  travail  of  His  soul  and  be 


Third  Epoch  in  My  Religious  Life  205 


satisfied."  "  Satisfied  1"  I  cried  in  my  heart, 
"  Clirist  is  to  be  satisfied!  He  will  be  able  to 
look  at  the  world's  misery,  and  then  at  the  travail 
through  which  He  has  passed  because  of  it,  and 
will  be  satisfied  with  the  result!  If  1  were  Christ, 
nothing  could  satisfy  me  but  that  every  human 
being  should  in  the  end  be  saved,  and  therefore  I 
am  sure  that  nothing  less  will  satisfy  Him." 
And  with  this  a  veil  seemed  to  be  withdrawn 
from  before  the  plans  of  the  universe,  and  I  saw 
that  it  was  true,  as  the  Bible  says,  that  "as  in 
Adam  all  die  even  so  in  Christ  should  all  be  made 
alive."  As  was  the  first,  even  so  was  the  second. 
The  "  all "  in  one  case  could  not  in  fairness  mean 
less  than  the  "  all  "  in  the  other.  I  saw  therefore 
that  the  remedy  must  necessarily  be  equal  to  the 
disease,  the  salvation  must  be  as  universal  as  the 
fall. 

1  saw  all  this  that  day  on  the  tram-car  on  Mar- 
ket street,  Philadelphia — not  only  thought  it,  or 
hoped  it,  or  even  believed  it — but  knew  it.  It 
was  a  Divine  fact.  And  from  that  moment  I 
have  never  had  one  questioning  thought  as  to  the 
final  destiny  of  the  human  race.  God  is  the 
Creator  of  every  human  being,  therefore  He  is  the 
Father  -of  each  one,  and  they  are  all  His  children; 
and  Christ  died  for  every  one,  and  is  declared  to 
be  the  "  propitiation  not  for  our  sins  only,  but  also 
for  the  sins  of  the  whole  world"  (i  John  2:2). 
However  great  the  ignorance  therefore,  or  how- 
ever grievous  the  sin,  the  promise  of  salvation  is 
positive  and  without  limitations.    If  it  is  true  that 


2o6       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


"by  the  offense  of  one  judgment  came  upon  all 
men  to  condemnation,"  it  is  equally  true  that  "by 
the  righteousness  of  one  the  free  gift  came  upon 
all  men  unto  justification  of  life."  To  limit  the 
last  "all  men  "  is  also  to  limit  the  first.  The  sal- 
vation is  absolutely  equal  to  the  fall.  There  is  to 
be  a  final  "restitution  of  all  things,"  when  "at 
the  name  of  Jesus  every  knee  shall  bow,  of  things 
in  heaven,  and  things  on  earth,  and  things  under 
the  earth,  and  every  tongue  shall  confess  that 
Jesus  Christ  is  Lord  to  the  glory  of  God  the 
Father. "  Every  knee,  every  tongue — words  could 
not  be  more  all  embracing.  The  how  and  the 
when  1  could  not  see;  but  the  one  essential  fact 
was  all  1  needed — somewhere  and  somehow  God 
was  going  to  make  everything  right  for  all  the 
creatures  He  had  created.  My  heart  was  at  rest 
about  it  forever. 

1  hurried  home  to  get  hold  of  my  Bible,  to  see 
if  the  magnificent  fact  1  had  discovered  could  pos- 
sibly have  been  all  this  time  in  the  Bible,  and  I 
not  have  seen  it;  and  the  moment  1  entered  the 
house,  I  did  not  wait  to  take  off  my  bonnet,  but 
rushed  at  once  to  the  table  where  I  always  kept 
my  Bible  and  Concordance  ready  for  use,  and  be- 
gan my  search.  Immediately  the  whole  Book 
seemed  to  be  illuminated.  On  every  page  the 
truth  concerning  the  "times  of  restitution  of  all 
things,"  of  which  the  Apostle  Peter  says  "God 
hath  spoken  by  the  mouth  of  all  His  holy  proph- 
ets since  the  world  began,"  shone  forth,  and  no 
room  was  left  for  questioning.    1  turned  greedily 


Third  Epoch  in  My  Religious  Life  207 

from  page  to  page  of  my  Bible,  fairly  laughing 
aloud  for  joy  at  the  blaze  of  light  that  illuminated 
it  all.  It  became  a  new  book.  Another  skin 
seemed  to  have  been  peeled  off  every  text,  and 
my  Bible  fairly  shone  with  a  new  meaning.  I  do 
not  say  with  a  different  meaning,  for  in  no  sense 
did  the  new  meaning  contradict  the  old,  but  a 
deeper  meaning,  the  true  meaning,  hidden  behind 
the  outward  form  of  words.  The  words  did  not 
need  to  be  changed,  they  only  needed  to  be  under- 
stood; and  now  at  last  I  began  to  undestand 
them. 

1  remember  just  about  this  time,  in  the  course 
of  my  daily  reading  in  the  Bible,  coming  to  the 
Psalms,  and  I  was  amazed  at  the  new  light  thrown 
upon  their  apparently  most  severe  and  even  blood- 
thirsty denunciations.  I  saw  that,  when  rightly 
interpreted,  not  by  the  letter,  but  by  the  spirit, 
they  were  full  of  the  assured  and  final  triumph  of 
good  over  evil,  and  were  a  magnificent  vindica- 
tion of  the  goodness  and  justice  of  God,  who  will 
not,  and  ought  not,  and  cannot,  rest  until  all  His 
enemies  and  ours  are  put  under  His  feet.  1  saw 
that  His  kingdom  must  be  interior  before  it  can 
be  exterior,  that  it  is  a  kingdom  of  ideas,  and  not 
one  of  brute  force;  that  His  rule  is  over  hearts, 
not  over  places;  that  His  victories  must  be  inward 
before  they  can  be  outward;  that  He  seeks  to 
control  spirits  rather  than  bodies;  that  no  triumph 
could  satisfy  Him  but  a  triumph  that  gains  the 
heart;  that  in  short,  where  God  really  reigns,  the 
surrender  must  be  the  interior  surrender  of  the 


2o8       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


convinced  freeman,  and  not  merely  the  outward 
surrender  of  the  conquered  slave.  Milton  says, 
"Who  overcomes  by  force  hath  overcome  but 
half  his  foe,"  and  1  saw  that  this  was  true. 

Read  in  the  light  of  these  views,  my  whole 
soul  thrilled  with  praise  over  the  very  words 
that  had  before  caused  me  to  thrill  with  horror. 
"Let  God  arise,  let  His  enemies  be  scattered; 
let  them  also  that  hate  Him  flee  before  Him.  As 
smoke  is  driven  away,  so  drive  them  away:  as 
wax  melteth  before  the  fire,  so  let  the  wicked 
perish  at  the  presence  of  God."  God's  wrath  is 
against  the  sin  not  against  the  sinner,  and  when 
His  enemies  are  scattered,  ours  are  also.  His 
sword  is  the  righteousness  that  puts  to  death  sin, 
in  order  to  save  the  sinner.  The  fire  of  his  anger 
is  the  "  refiner's  fire,"  and  He  sits,  not  as  the  des- 
troyer of  the  human  soul,  but  as  its  purifier,  to 
purge  it  as  gold  and  silver  are  purged. 

"  Implacable  is  love. 
Foes  may  be  bought  or  teased 

From  their  malign  intent ; 
But  He  goes  unappeased 

Who  is  on  kindness  bent." 

The  Psalmist  says,  "Thou  wast  a  God  that 
forgavest  them,  though  thou  takest  vengeance  of 
their  inventions;"  and  with  this  key  to  inter- 
pret it,  all  the  denunciations  of  God's  wrath, 
which  had  once  seemed  so  cruel  and  so  unjust, 
were  transformed  into  declarations  of  His  loving 
determination  to  make  us  good  enough  to  live  in 
Heaven  with  Himself  forever. 


Third  Epoch  in  My  Religious  Life  209 


1  might  multiply  endlessly  similar  instances  of 
the  new  illumination  that  shone  in  entrancing 
beauty  on  every  page  of  the  Bible,  but  these  will 
suffice.  I  began  at  last  to  understand  what  the 
Apostle  Paul  meant  when  he  said  that  he  had 
been  made  the  minister  of  the  new  testament, 
not  of  the  letter  but  of  the  spirit.for  "  the  letter 
killeth  but  the  spirit  giveth  life."  Things  I  had 
read  in  the  letter,  and  had  shuddered  at,  now, 
read  in  the  spirit,  filled  me  with  joy. 


XXIII 


THE  UNSELFISHNESS  OF  GOD 

I HAVE  always  felt  that  at  this  time  my  real 
discovery  of  the  unselfishness  of  God  began. 
Up  to  then,  while  1  had  rejoiced  in  the  salva- 
tion for  myself  that  1  had  discovered,  1  had  been 
secretly  beset  from  time  to  time  with  a  torturing 
feeling  that,  after  all,  it  was  rather  a  selfish  salva- 
tion, both  for  Him  and  for  me.  How  could  a 
good  God  enjoy  Himself  in  Heaven,  knowing  all 
the  while  that  a  large  proportion  of  the  beings 
He  had  Himself  created  were  doomed  to  eternal 
misery,  unless  He  were  a  selfish  God?  I  had 
known  that  the  Bible  said  He  was  a  God  of  love, 
and  1  had  supposed  it  must  be  true,  but  always 
there  had  been  at  the  bottom  of  my  mind  this 
secret  feeling  that  His  love  could  not  stand  the 
test  of  comparison  with  the  ideal  of  love  in  my 
own  heart.  1  knew  that,  poor  and  imperfect  as 
my  love  must  be,  1  could  never  have  enjoyed  my- 
self in  Heaven  while  one  of  my  children,  no  mat- 
ter how  naughty,  was  shut  out;  and  that  He 
could  and  did  enjoy  Himself,  while  countless 
thousands  of  His  children  were  shut  out,  seemed 
to  me  a  failure  in  the  most  essential  element  of 
love.  So  that,  grateful  as  1  had  felt  for  the  bless- 
ings of  forgiveness  and  of  a  sure  and  certain  hope 


The  Unselfishness  of  God  2ii 


of  Heaven  for  myself,  I  still  had  often  felt  as  if 
after  all  the  God  I  worshipped  was  a  selfish  God, 
who  cared  more  for  His  own  comfort  and  His 
own  glory  than  He  did  for  the  poor  suffering 
beings  He  had  made.  But  now  I  began  to  see 
that  the  wideness  of  God's  love  was  far  beyond 
any  wideness  that  I  could  even  conceive  of;  and 
that  if  I  took  all  the  unselfish  love  of  every 
mother's  heart  the  whole  world  over,  and  piled 
it  all  together,  and  multiplied  it  by  millions,  I 
would  still  only  get  a  faint  idea  of  the  unselfish- 
ness of  God. 

I  had  always  thought  of  Him  as  loving,  but 
now  I  found  out  that  He  was  far  more  than  lov- 
ing;— He  was  love,  love  embodied  and  ingrained. 
I  saw  that  He  was,  as  it  were,  made  out  of  love, 
so  that  in  the  very  nature  of  things  He  could  not 
do  anything  contrary  to  love.  Not  that  He  would 
not  do  it,  but  actually  could  not,  because  love 
was  the  very  essence  of  His  being.  I  saw  that 
the  law  of  love,  like  the  law  of  gravitation,  is 
inevitable  in  its  working,  and  that  God  is,  if  I 
may  say  so,  under  this  law,  and  cannot  help 
obeying  it.  1  saw  that,  because  He  is  love,  He 
simply,  in  the  very  nature  of  things,  must  be 
loving.  It  is  not  a  matter  of  choice  with  Him, 
but  a  matter  of  necessity.  And  I  saw  that,  once 
this  fact  was  known,  to  trust  in  this  God  of  love 
would  be  as  natural  as  to  breathe.  Every  doubt- 
ing question  was  answered,  and  I  was  filled  with 
an  illimitable  delight  in  the  thought  of  having 
been  created  by  such  an  unselfish  God. 


212       The  Unselfishness  of  God 

1  saw  that  as  a  matter  of  course  the  fact  of  His 
being  our  Creator  was  an  absolute  guarantee  that 
He  would  care  for  us,  and  would  make  all  things 
work  together  for  our  good.  The  duties  of 
ownership  blazed  with  a  tremendous  illumina- 
tion. Not  its  rights,  of  which  I  had  hitherto 
chiefly  thought,  but  its  duties,  the  things  owner- 
ship necessarily  demands  of  every  owner.  I  saw 
that  just  as  in  a  civilized  community  people  are 
compelled  by  public  opinion,  or  if  necessary  by 
the  law,  to  take  proper  care  of  the  things  that 
belong  to  them,  so  our  Creator,  by  the  laws  of 
common  morality,  is  compelled  to  take  proper 
care  of  the  creatures  He  has  created,  and  must 
be  held  responsible  for  their  well-being. 

It  was  all  so  glorious  that  it  often  seemed  al- 
most too  good  to  be  true,  that  we  actually  did 
belong  to  such  an  unselfish  God;  and  many  a 
time,  when  a  fresh  insight  into  His  goodness 
would  come  over  me,  I  would  be  obliged  to  get 
my  Bible  and  open  it  at  the  texts  that  declared 
we  really  were  His  property,  and  put  my  fingers 
on  them,  and  read  them  aloud,  just  to  reassure 
myself  that  they  did  actually  say,  without  any 
limitations,  that  He  was  my  owner. 

The  expression  "Remember  thy  Creator"  as- 
sumed a  totally  different  aspect  to  me.  I  had 
always  thought  of  it  as  a  kind  of  threat  held  over 
us  to  frighten  us  into  good  behaviour;  but  now 
it  seemed  full  of  the  most  delightful  warrant  and 
assurance  that  all  was  well  for  the  creatures  this 
unselfish  Creator  had  created. 


The  Unselfishness  of  God  213 

I  saw  that  God  was  good,  not  religiously  good  [ 
only,  but  really  and  actually  good  in  the  truest 
sense  of  that  word,  and  that  a  good  Creator  was 
of  course  bound  to  make  everything  go  right 
with  the  creatures  He  had  created.  And  the  fact 
that  nothing  was  hid  from  His  eyes,  which  had 
once  been  so  alarming,  now  began  to  seem  the 
most  delightful  fact  in  the  whole  universe,  be- 
cause it  made  it  certain  that  He  knew  all  about 
us,  and  would  therefore  be  able  to  do  His  best 
for  us. 

My  own  feelings  as  a  mother,  which  had 
heretofore  seemed  to  war  with  what  I  had  be- 
lieved of  God,  now  came  into  perfect  harmony. 

My  children  have  been  the  joy  of  my  life.  I 
cannot  imagine  more  exquisite  bliss  than  comes 
to  one  sometimes  in  the  possession  and  compan- 
ionship of  a  child.  To  me  there  have  been  mo- 
ments, when  my  arms  have  been  around  my 
children,  that  have  seemed  more  like  what  the 
bliss  of  heaven  must  be  than  any  other  thing  I 
can  conceive  of ;  and  I  think  this  feeling  has  taught 
me  more  of  what  are  God's  feeling  towards  His 
children  than  anything  else  in  the  universe.  If 
I,  a  human  being  with  limited  capacity,  can  find 
such  joy  in  my  children,  what  must  God,  with 
His  infinite  heart  of  love,  feel  towards  His!  In 
fact  most  of  my  ideas  of  the  love  and  goodness 
of  God  have  come  from  my  own  experience  as 
a  mother,  because  I  could  not  conceive  that  God 
would  create  me  with  a  greater  capacity  for  un- 
selfishness and  self-sacrifice  than  He  possessed 


214       The  Unselfishness  of  God 

Himself ;  and  since  this  discovery  of  the  mother- 
heart  of  God  I  have  always  been  able  to  answer 
every  doubt  that  may  have  arisen  in  my  mind, 
as  to  the  extent  and  quality  of  the  love  of  God, 
by  simply  looking  at  my  own  feelings  as  a 
mother.  1  cannot  understand  the  possibility  of 
any  selfishness  on  the  mother's  part  coming  into 
her  relation  to  her  children.  It  seems  to  me  a 
mother,  who  can  be  selfish  and  think  of  her  own 
comfort  and  her  own  welfare  before  that  of  her 
children,  is  an  abnormal  mother,  who  fails  in  the 
very  highest  duty  of  motherhood. 

If  one  looks  at  what  we  call  the  lower  creation, 
one  will  see  that  every  animal  teaches  us  this 
supreme  duty  of  self-sacrifice  on  the  part  of  the 
mother. 

The  tiger  mother  will  suffer  herself  to  be 
killed  rather  than  that  harm  should  come  to  her 
offspring.  She  will  starve  that  they  may  be  fed. 
Could  our  God  do  less  ?  1  speak  of  self-sacrifice, 
but  I  cannot  truthfully  call  it  sacrifice.  Any  true 
mother,  who  knows  the  reality  of  motherhood, 
would  scorn  the  idea  that  the  care  of  her  children 
involved  a  sacrifice,  in  the  ordinary  sense  of  sac- 
rifice, on  her  part.  It  may  involve  trouble  or 
weariness  but  not  what  I  could  call  sacrifice. 
The  sacrifice  would  be  if  she  were  not  allowed 
to  care  for  them,  not  if  she  were.  I  know  no 
more  fallacious  line  of  argument  than  that  which 
is  founded  upon  the  idea  that  children  ought  to 
be  grateful  for  the  self-sacrifice  on  the  mother's 
part.    Her  claim  to  love  and  consideration  on  the 


The  Unselfishness  of  God  215 

part  of  her  children  depends  altogether  to  my 
mind  upon  how  true  a  mother  she  has  been  in 
the  sense  1  describe;  and  I  believe  that  thousands 
of  disappointed  mothers,  who  have  not  received 
the  gratitude  and  consideration  they  would  like, 
have  only  themselves  to  thank,  because  they  have 
demanded  it,  instead  of  having  won  it.  All  this 
has  taught  me  to  understand  God's  feelings 
towards  us — that  what  we  call  self-sacrifice  on 
the  part  of  Christ  was  simply  the  absolutely  nec- 
essary expression  of  His  love  for  us;  and  that  the 
amazing  thing  would  have  been,  not  that  He  did 
it,  but  if  He  had  not  done  it. 

Since  I  had  this  sight  of  the  mother-heart  of 
God,  I  have  never  been  able  to  feel  the  slightest 
anxiety  for  any  of  His  children;  and  by  His  chil- 
dren I  do  not  mean  only  the  good  ones,  but  I 
mean  the  bad  ones  just  as  much.  Are  we  not 
distinctly  told  that  the  Good  Shepherd  leaves  the 
ninety  and  nine  good  sheep  in  order  to  find  the  one 
naughty  sheep  that  is  lost,  and  that  He  looks  for 
it  until  He  finds  it?  And,  viewed  in  the  light 
of  motherhood,  has  not  that  word  "lost"  a 
most  comforting  meaning,  since  nothing  can  be 
a  lost  thing  that  is  not  owned  by  somebody,  and 
to  be  lost  means  only,  not  yet  found.  The  lost 
gold  piece  is  still  gold,  with  the  image  of  the 
King  upon  it;  the  lost  sheep  is  a  sheep  still,  not 
a  wolf;  the  lost  son  has  still  the  blood  of  his 
father  in  his  veins.  And  if  a  person  is  a  lost 
sinner,  it  only  means  that  he  is  owned  by  the 
Good  Shepherd,  and  that  the  Good  Shepherd  is 


2i6       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


bound,  by  the  very  duties  of  His  ownership,  to 
go  after  that  which  is  lost,  and  to  go  until  He 
finds  it.  That  word  "lost"  therefore,  to  my 
mind,  contains  in  itself  the  strongest  proof  of 
ownership  that  one  could  desire.  Who  can  im- 
agine a  mother  with  a  lost  child  ever  having  a  ray 
of  comfort  until  the  child  is  found,  and  who  can 
imagine  God  being  more  indifferent  than  a 
mother  ?  In  fact  1  believe  that  all  the  problems 
of  the  spiritual  life,  which  are  often  so  distress- 
ing to  conscientious  souls,  would  vanish  like 
mist  before  the  rising  sun,  if  the  full  blaze  of  the 
mother-heart  of  God  should  be  turned  upon 
them. 

Moreover  I  saw  that,  since  it  was  declared  we 
had  been  created  in  the  image  of  God,  we  were 
bound  to  believe  that  the  best  in  us,  and  not  the 
worst  was  the  reflection  of  that  image,  and  that 
therefore  things  which  to  us  in  our  best  moments 
looked  selfish,  or  unkind,  or  unjust,  or  self-seek- 
ing, must  never,  no  matter  what  the  "seeming," 
be  attributed  to  God.  If  He  is  unselfish.  He 
must  be  at  least  as  unselfish  as  the  highest  human 
ideal;  and  of  course  we  know  He  must  be  in- 
finitely more. 

All  the  texts  in  the  Bible  revealing  God's  good- 
ness shone  with  a  new  meaning,  and  I  saw 
that  His  goodness  was  not  merely  a  patronizing 
benevolence,  but  was  a  genuine  bona  fide  good- 
ness, that  included  unselfishness  and  considera- 
tion, and  above  all  justice,  which  last  has  always 
seemed  to  me  one  of  the  very  first  elements  of 


The  Unselfishness  of  God  217 


goodness.  No  unjust  person  could  ever,  in  my 
opinion,  lay  the  slightest  claim  to  being  good,  let 
their  outward  seemings  of  goodness  be  as  de- 
ceiving as  they  may.  I  had  in  short  such  an 
overwhelming  revelation  of  the  intrinsic  and  in- 
herent goodness  and  unselfishness  of  God  that 
nothing  since  has  been  able  to  shake  it.  A  great 
many  things  in  His  dealings  have  been  and  still 
are  mysteries  to  me;  but  1  am  sure  they  could  all 
be  explained  on  the  basis  of  love  and  justice,  if 
only  1  could  look  deep  enough;  and  that  some 
day  1  shall  see,  what  now  1  firmly  believe,  that 
His  loving  kindness  is  really  and  truly  over  all 
His  works. 

I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  all  this  acquaintance 
with  God  came  to  me  at  once;  but  1  do  mean  to 
say  that  when  I  had  that  revelation  on  the  tram- 
car  in  Philadelphia  that  day,  a  light  on  the  char- 
acter of  God  began  to  shine,  that  has  never  since 
waned  in  the  slightest,  and  has  only  grown 
brighter  and  brighter  with  every  year  of  my  life. 
It  is  enough  for  me  to  say  "  God  is,"  and  I  have 
the  answer  to  every  possible  difficulty. 

The  amazing  thing  is  that  I,  in  company  with 
so  many  other  Christians,  had  failed,  with  the 
open  Bible  before  me,  to  see  this;  and  that  all 
sorts  of  travesties  on  the  character  of  God,  and 
of  libels  upon  His  goodness,  can  find  apparently 
a  welcome  entrance  into  Christian  hearts.  To  me 
such  things  became  at  this  time  well-nigh  intol- 
erable. I  could  listen  patiently,  and  even  with 
interest,  to  any  sort  of  strange  or  heretical  ideas 


2i8       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


that  did  not  touch  the  character  of  God,  but  the 
one  thing  I  could  not  endure,  and  could  not  sit 
still  to  listen  to,  was  anything  that  contained, 
even  under  a  show  of  great  piety,  the  least  hint 
of  a  libel  on  His  love  or  His  unselfishness. 

1  shall  never  forget  a  memorable  occasion  in 
our  own  house,  when  a  celebrated  Preacher  from 
Boston,  was  visiting  us.  The  conversation  at  the 
breakfast  table  turned  on  the  subject  of  God's 
love,  and  this  Preacher  declared  that  you  must 
not  count  on  it  too  much,  as  there  were  limits  to 
what  His  love  could  endure,  just  as  there  were 
limits  to  a  mother's  love;  and  he  went  on  to 
declare  that  there  were  certain  sins  a  daughter 
could  commit  which  the  mother  never  could  for- 
give, and  which  would  forever  close  her  heart 
and  her  home  against  her  child,  and  he  asserted 
that  it  was  just  so  with  God,  and  that  he  con- 
sidered it  was  a  grandmotherly  religion  that  taught 
anything  different. 

1  have  no  doubt  his  object  was  to  combat  my 
views  on  Restitution,  although  we  were  not  talk- 
ing on  that  subject;  but  he  evidently  wanted  to 
convince  me  that  God  was  not  quite  so  foolishly 
loving  as  I  thought.  It  was  more  than  1  could 
endure  to  hear  both  mothers,  and  the  God  who 
made  mothers,  so  maligned,  and,  although 
the  speaker  was  my  guest,  1  broke  forth  into  a 
perfect  passion  of  indignation,  and,  declaring 
that  I  would  not  sit  at  the  table  with  any  one 
who  held  such  libellous  ideas  of  God,  I  burst 
into  tears  and  left  the  room,  and  entirely  declined 


The  Unselfishness  of  God  219 


to  see  my  guest  again.  I  do  not  say  this  was 
right  or  courteous,  or  at  all  Christlike,  but  it  only 
illustrates  how  overwhelmingly  1  felt  on  the  sub- 
ject. The  honour  of  God  seemed  to  me  of  more 
importance  than  any  ordinary  rules  of  politeness. 
But  I  see  now  that  1  might  have  vindicated  that 
honour  in  an  equally  effectual  but  more  Christ- 
like way. 

Still,  to  this  day,  the  one  thing  which  I  find  it 
very  hard  to  tolerate,  is  anything  which  libels  the 
character  of  God.  Nothing  else  matters  like  this, 
for  all  our  salvation  depends  wholly  and  entirely 
upon  what  God  is;  and  unless  He  can  be  proved 
to  be  absolutely  good,  and  absolutely  unselfish, 
and  absolutely  just,  our  case  is  absolutely  hope- 
less. God  only  is  our  salvation,  and,  if  He  fails 
us,  in  even  the  slightest  degree,  we  have  nowhere 
else  to  turn. 


XXIV 


EFFECT  OF  MY  VIEWS  ON  MY  PUBLIC 
WORK 


S  was  to  be  expected  in  those  days,  my 


views  on  Restitution,  which  of  course  I 


X  .A^had  speedily  announced,  met  with  a  great 
deal  of  disapproval  from  the  Plymouth  Brethren, 
and  my  other  orthodox  friends,  and  1  had  to  un- 
dergo a  good  deal  of  what  might  be  called  perse- 
cution, but  which  I  myself  rather  gloried  in,  be- 
cause I  felt  it  was  a  grand  thing  to  know  so  much 
more  of  God  than  those  did  who  opposed  me. 
I  often  compared  my  feelings  to  the  feelings  a 
civilized  man  might  have,  when  going  into  a 
savage  country,  and  trying  to  tell  the  savages  of 
some  of  the  wonders  of  civilization,  which  won- 
ders they  of  course  could  not  understand,  and 
would  not  be  likely  to  believe.  His  sense  of 
superior  knowledge  would  make  all  their  disap- 
proval and  opposition  only  a  cause  for  supremely 
pitying  their  ignorance,  and  bearing  with  it  pa- 
tiently. And  on  this  ground  1  have  always  rather 
enjoyed  being  considered  a  heretic,  and  have 
never  wanted  to  be  endorsed  by  any  one.  I 
have  felt  that  to  be  endorsed  was  to  be  bound, 
and  that  it  was  better,  for  me  at  least,  to  be  a 


My  Views  on  Public  Work  221 

free  lance,  with  no  hindrances  to  my  absolute 
mental  and  spiritual  freedom. 

In  those  days  the  discovery  I  had  made  was  not 
so  widely  known  as  it  is  now,  and  it  seemed 
likely  that  the  holding  of  what  was  considered  by 
many  to  be  such  a  grave  heresy,  might  have 
proved  a  hindrance  to  my  Christian  work;  and  1 
dare  say  it  may  have  been  so  in  some  quarters. 
But  as  I  always  had  far  more  openings  for  work 
awaiting  me  than  I  could  possibly  fill,  I  never 
experienced  any  difficulty.  I  tried  to  be  cour- 
teous enough  not  to  involve  people,  to  whom 
such  views  were  abhorrent,  in  the  responsibility 
of  endorsing  me;  but  the  revelation  I  had  had 
was  too  glorious  for  me  to  withhold  it  whenever 
I  found  an  open  door;  and  as  I  was  never  willing 
to  sail  under  false  colours,  nor  speak  anywhere 
without  its  being  perfectly  well  known  before- 
hand what  a  heretic  I  was,  I  enjoyed  for  the  most 
part  all  the  freedom  I  desired.  And,  as  a  fact, 
these  very  views,  and  the  frank  confession  of 
them  under  rather  trying  circumstances,  were  the 
means  of  opening  the  way  for  some  of  our  most 
important  and  successful  work. 

It  came  about  in  this  wise.  In  1873  my  hus- 
band had  come  over  to  England  to  hold  some 
meetings  in  the  interests  of  the  Higher  Life,  or, 
what  I  prefer  to  call  it,  the  Life  of  Faith.  I  soon 
followed  him,  and  upon  my  arrival  in  London  I 
was  invited  to  meet  a  company  of  leading  Evan- 
gelical ladies,  who  were  to  decide  as  to  whether 
it  would  be  safe  for  them  to  endorse  me,  and 


222       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


lend  their  influence  to  the  work.  The  occasion 
has  thus  been  described  by  Lady  Mount  Temple, 
who  was  one  of  the  party,  in  her  life  of  Lord 
Mount  Temple: — 

"1  think  it  was  in  1873,  that  Mr.  Pearsall 
Smith  came  to  England  from  America,  followed 
in  a  few  months  by  his  dear  beautiful  wife.  It 
was  a  time  long  to  be  remembered.  They  came 
full,  one  may  say,  of  the  new  wine  of  the  Spirit, 
and  longed  to  help  others  onward  in  the  Divine 
life.  A  friend  asked  us  to  lunch  to  meet  them.  I 
shall  never  forget  my  first  sight  of  Hannah  Smith. 
We  called  her  the  'angel  of  the  Churches,'  and 
she  looked  like  one,  with  her  golden  hair  and 
clear  beautifully  cut  face,  in  a  dress  distinctly  her 
own,  but  simple  as  that  of  the  Friends,  among 
whom  she  had  been  brought  up. 

"1  may  mention  what  strongly  drew  me  to 
her  that  day.  I  must  confess  that  I  was  only  a 
seeker  after  truth.  Hannah  was  sitting  in  a  little 
circle  of  excellent  orthodox  friends,  who  had  as- 
sembled to  hear  of  the  good  things  that  she  had 
to  impart,  and  she  was  there  on  her  examination. 

"She  happened  to  have  seen  a  funeral  in  the 
street,  and  as  she  spoke  of  it,  we  all  put  on  the 
conventional  look  of  sadness.  'Oh,'  she  said, 
'  when  1  meet  a  funeral  I  always  give  thanks  for 
the  brother  or  sister  delivered  from  the  trials  and 
pains  of  this  mortal  state.'  How  wonderful,  I 
thought,  and  I  could  not  help  exclaimmg,  '  Is 
that  possible  ?  Do  you  feel  this  about  every- 
body ? '  I  was  indeed  an  enfant  terrible.  She 
stopped  a  moment  and  looked  around.  She  was 
amongst  a  party  of  evangelicals,  at  a  time  when 
the  universal  hope  was  deemed  a  heresy,  and  she 
was  on  her  trial.  She  owns  that  she  went  through 
a  few  moments  of  conflict.    But  truth  prevailed. 


My  Views  on  Public  Work  223 


and  looking  up,  with  her  bright  glance,  she  said, 
'  Yes,  about  everybody,  for  1  trust  in  the  love  of 
God.'  1  yielded  my  heart  at  once  to  this  mani- 
festation of  trust  and  love  and  candour." 

I  remember  this  occasion  perfectly,  and  the 
thoughts  that  influenced  me.  I  knew  1  was  on 
my  trial,  and  I  thought  very  likely  the  whole 
party  would  be  shocked,  but  1  felt  that  loyalty  to 
God  demanded  that  I  should  tell  what  I  knew 
would  honour  Him,  and  that  I  must  be  willing  to 
leave  the  consequences  in  His  care.  The  moment 
I  ceased  speaking  Lady  Mount  Temple,  (or  Mrs. 
Cowper  Temple,  as  she  was  then),  left  her  seat 
and  came  across  to  where  I  was  sitting,  and, 
stranger  though  I  was,  gave  me  a  most  loving 
kiss,  and  said  at  once,  "  You  must  come  and  have 
some  meetings  at  Broadlands."  How  the  rest  of 
the  party  felt  I  do  not  know,  but  not  a  word  of 
disapproval  was  uttered,  and  they  were  all  after- 
wards my  best  friends.  And  the  result  was  that 
in  a  few  weeks,  Broadlands,  Lord  and  Lady 
Mount  Temple's  place  in  Hampshire,  was  thrown 
open  to  us  for  our  first  conference,  which  was  a 
time  of  wonderful  blessing,  and  proved  to  be  the 
entering  door  for  all  the  future  conferences,  and 
for  our  whole  after  work  in  England  and  else- 
where. 

When  in  1874  there  was  to  be  one  of  these 
conferences  at  Brighton,  some  of  the  committee 
who  were  helping  to  organize  it,  got  frightened 
about  my  heresies,  lest  they  should  hinder  the 
work,  and  induced  my  husband,  who  had  pre- 


224       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


ceded  me  to  England,  to  write  over  to  America 
and  tell  me  that  unless  1  would  promise  not 
to  let  my  heresies  be  known  while  1  was  in 
England,  they  would  strongly  oppose  my  being 
allowed  to  take  part  in  the  meetings.  When 
looking  over  an  old  package  of  letters  lately  I 
came  across  my  reply,  which  1  quote  to  show 
how  I  felt  about  it. 

"  Philadelphia,  April  6,  1874.  Thy  letters  from 
London  have  arrived.  Thee  need  not  think  I 
should  be  grieved  not  to  be  allowed  to  speak  in 
the  meetings,  for  nothing  would  really  suit  me 
better.  1  am  not  in  the  least  anxious  to  preach. 
In  fact  1  consider  that  it  is  a  great  favour  on  my  part 
to  be  willing  to  do  it,  and  not  the  least  of  a  favour  in 
people  to  be  willing  to  listen  to  me.  And  if  your 
committee  should  say  '  We  do  not  want  to  hear 
you  speak  at  Brighton,'  I  should  have  returned 
them  hearty  thanks.  Nobody  need  feel  any  deli- 
cacy whatever  in  this  direction.  But  it  must  be 
thoroughly  understood  that  I  compromise  for  no- 
body, and  that  1  believe  in  Restitution  more  and 
more.  1  do  not  think  1  could  endure  the  misery 
1  see  in  this  poor  sad  sin-stricken  world  without 
it.  Our  temperance  work  brings  us  into  contact 
with  such  helpless  misery,  that  my  heart  would 
burst  if  I  did  not  know  that  God  loves  all  His 
creatures,  and  has  something  gracious  in  store 
for  every  one." 

So  I  wrote;  and,  as  I  would  not  compromise, 
and,  as  it  was  felt  important  to  have  me  at  the 
meetings,  the  committee  dropped  the  subject,  and 
decided  to  take  me  as  I  was,  with  all  my  here- 
sies. 


My  Views  on  Public  Work  22^ 


When  my  husband  wrote  me  this,  I  replied  as 
follows: — 

"  Philadelphia.  I  am  very  glad  thee  has  got  out 
of  thy  difficulty  about  thy  heretical  preaching  wife 

with  so  little  trouble.    But  the  idea  of  B  ,  with 

shaky  views  of  his  own,  undertaking  to  excom- 
municate me!  1  really  do  not  think  it  was  honest. 
1  do  not  choose  to  sail  under  false  colours,  and  1 
am  a  thousand  times  stronger  in  my  views  of 
restitution  every  day  1  live.  If  they  let  me  alone 
in  England  I  shall  probably  not  say  much  about 
it,  but  if  there  is  the  least  hmt  of  any  compromise 
or  underhand  secrecy  on  my  part,  I  shall  blaze 
out  in  a  perfect  conflagration.  For  I  cannot  en- 
dure anything  like  that.  So  you  must  please  bear 
this  in  mind,  ye  Lords  of  Creation.  Soberly  how- 
ever 1  do  not  feel  at  all  drawn  to  preach  or  to 
teach  restitution  over  there,  and  if  the  dear  fright- 
ened Orthodox  friends  do  not  make  any  fuss 
about  it,  I  shall  not  be  likely  to.  Their  difficul- 
ties about  me  do  not  annoy  me  in  the  least.  I 
believe  I  actually  enjoy  being  the  victim  of  the 
'odium  theologicum.'  1  guess  there  is  something 
of  the  war  horse  in  my  composition." 

Whether  the  fears  of  the  committee  had  been 
well  founded  or  not  I  cannot  tell,  I  only  know 
that  never  for  one  single  moment  in  all  my  work 
in  England  was  I  made  to  feel  that  my  views  on 
restitution  in  the  slightest  degree  hindered  the 
entrance  of  the  message  I  had  to  give,  or  closed 
any  door  for  my  work,  in  fact  I  believe  they 
made  the  way  for  me  in  many  places  that  would 
otherwise  not  have  been  open.    The  truth  was 


226       The  Unselfishness  of  God 

that  my  underlying  belief  in  the  absolutely  un- 
limited justice  and  love  of  God  enabled  me  to 
speak  with  a  far  more  courageous  faith  in  Him 
than  1  could  otherwise  have  done,  and  I  am  con- 
vinced that  without  it  I  should  have  been  shorn 
of  half  my  power. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  however,  the  revolution 
wrought  in  my  own  experience  by  the  discovery 
1  had  made  of  the  wideness  of  God's  salvation, 
was  so  tremendous,  that  no  words  could  tell  it, 
and  the  romance  of  my  religious  life  grew  more 
entrancing  than  ever. 

Every  day  seemed  to  bring  me  some  deeper 
and  more  glorious  insight  into  the  unimagined 
goodness  and  unselfishness  of  God,  and  1  fell 
that  1  was  at  last  beginning  to  enter  into  the 
meaning  of  the  Apostle's  prayer  for  the  Ephe- 
sians,  and  was  able  in  my  little  measure  to  com- 
prehend with  all  saints,  what  is  the  breadth,  and 
length,  and  depth,  and  height,  and  to  know 
(something  at  least)  of  the  love  of  Christ  that 
passeth  knowledge. 

Such  love  as  this  did  indeed  pass  knowledge, 
and  could  only  have  sprung  out  of  the  heart 
of  an  utterly  unselfish  God.  I  stood  amazed  be- 
fore the  breadth,  and  length,  and  depth,  and 
height  of  it,  and  wondered,  with  an  endless 
wonder,  how  1  could  ever  have  supposed  for 
a  single  instant  that  a  Divine  love  could  have  had 
any  limitations. 

So  delightful  was  it  all  that  for  a  long  time 
I  felt  that  there  could  not  be  anything  more 


My  Views  on  Public  Work  227 


to  find  out  about  God,  but  that  I  must  have 
made  my  final  discovery. 

But  a  further  revelation  was  in  store  forme, 
and  the  fourth  epoch  of  my  soul's  life,  and 
the  most  entrancing  of  any,  was  about  to  open. 


XXV 


THE  FOURTH  EPOCH  IN  MY  RELIGIOUS  LIFE 
(THE  LIFE  OF  FAITH) 


T  was  in  the  year  1865  that  the  fourth  and 
most  fascinating  of  all  the  epochs  in  my 
spiritual  romance  dawned  upon  my  soul. 


I  had  been  a  Christian  nine  years,  and  had  had, 
as  1  have  said,  a  delightful  and  enchanting  time; 
but  what  was  coming  now  was  so  far  ahead 
of  all  that  was  past,  that  it  seemed  as  if  a  new 
and  magical  world  had  opened  before  me. 

My  religion  during  those  nine  years  had  been 
perfectly  satisfactory  as  far  as  God  was  con- 
cerned, and  the  discoveries  I  had  made  of  His 
ways  and  His  character  had  been  all  of  them 
most  delightful.  But  on  my  own  side  the  satis- 
faction was  much  less  complete.  I  was  very 
happy,  but  I  was  not  as  good  as  I  wanted  to  be. 
I  had  found  a  religion  that  provided  perfectly 
for  my  future  deliverance,  but  it  did  not  seem  to 
give  me  present  deliverance.  1  had  found  an  un- 
selfish and  a  just  God,  whom  I  could  worship 
and  adore,  without  any  fear  of  being  disap- 
pointed; but  1  was  continually  disappointed  in 
myself.  I  knew  I  was  not  what  I  ought  to  be. 
My  life  was  full  of  failure  and  sin.  Not  out- 
ward sins  so  much,  as  sins  of  the  heart,  coldness, 
228 


Fourth  Epoch  in  My  Religious  Life  229 


deadness,  want  of  Christian  love,  roots  of  bitter- 
ness,— all  those  inward  sins  over  which  the 
children  of  God  so  often  seem  to  mourn.  When 
I  would  do  good  evil  was  present  with  me,  and 
the  good  that  I  would  1  did  not,  while  the  evil 
that  1  would  not  that  I  did.  I  was  continually 
sinning  and  repenting,  making  good  resolutions 
and  breaking  them,  hating  what  was  wrong, 
and  yet  yielding  to  it,  longing  for  victory,  and 
sometimes  getting  it,  but  more  often  failing. 

I  could  not  help,  however,  seeing  all  the  while 
that  the  Bible  seemed  to  imply  that  Christ  came  to 
bring  a  real  and  present  victory  to  His  followers, 
and  that  it  was  intended  that  Christians  should 
be  delivered  from  their  anxious  cares  and  fears, 
and  were  to  enjoy  now  and  here  a  peace  that 
passed  all  understanding.  But  I  was  painfully 
conscious  that  I  knew  very  little  of  this.  My 
soul  it  is  true  was  at  rest  as  to  my  future,  but  in 
the  present  it  was  racked  and  torn  by  a  thousand 
daily  cares  and  anxieties.  The  very  fruits  of 
that  Spirit,  which  as  a  Christian,  1  believed  1  had 
received,  were  love,  joy,  peace,  long-suffering, 
gentleness,  meekness,  goodness,  and  these  were 
just  the  very  things  in  which  I  knew  myself 
to  be  the  most  deficient. 

This  was  not  what  1  had  expected  when  I 
first  became  a  Christian.  From  the  peaceful, 
restful  lives  of  the  Quakers,  among  whom  I  had 
been  brought  up,  and  from  their  teaching  of  the 
paramount  and  vital  necessity  of  being  good, 
i  had  supposed  of  course  that  becoming  a  Chris- 


230       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


tian  meant  necessarily  becoming  peaceful  and 
good,  and  I  had  as  much  expected  to  have 
victory  over  sin  and  over  worries  as  I  had  ex- 
pected the  sun  to  shine.  But  1  was  forced  to 
confess  in  the  secret  depths  of  my  soul  that 
1  had  been  disappointed. 

At  first,  it  is  true,  the  joys  of  my  new  found 
salvation  had  carried  me  triumphantly  over  every- 
thing, and  I  had  thought  that  temptation,  and 
sin,  and  worry,  and  fear,  had  all  been  swept 
away  forever.  But  in  a  little  while,  when  the 
first  glow  had  passed  away,  I  found  the  old 
temptations  coming  back  with  all  their  old  power, 
and  it  became  just  as  easy  as  ever  to  be  anxious, 
and  worried,  and  care  burdened,  and  irritable, 
and  unkind,  and  critical,  and  severe,  and  in  short 
to  do  and  to  be  all  the  ugly  things  from  which  I 
had  expected  religion  to  deliver  me.  This  did 
not  for  a  moment  shake  my  faith  in  the  fact  that 
I  was  a  child  of  God  and  an  heir  of  Heaven,  but 
it  often  made  me  feel  very  mean,  and  very  much 
ashamed  of  myself.  To  be  a  child  of  God,  and 
yet  to  be  unable  to  act  like  one,  made  me 
wonder  whether  I  could  have  missed  some- 
thing in  religion  which  would  have  given  me 
victory,  and  I  determined  to  find  out  if  pos- 
sible what  that  something  was.  I  questioned 
several  older  Christians  about  it,  but  from  one 
and  all  I  received  the  same  answer.  "No," 
they  said,  "  you  have  not  missed  anything.  The 
life  of  sinning  and  repenting  is  all  we  can 
expect  in  this  world,  because  of  the  weakness  of 


Fourth  Epoch  in  My  Religious  Life  231 

the  flesh."  They  explained  to  me  that  there 
were  two  natures  in  us — the  old  Adam  which 
was  ours  at  our  natural  birth,  and  the  new  Adam 
which  became  ours  when  we  were  born  again 
by  the  spirit  of  God,  and  that  these  two  natures 
were  always  warring  against  each  other,  some- 
times one  getting  the  victory  and  sometimes  the 
other,  and  that  only  in  death  should  we  know 
any  real  delivery  from  the  old  Adam. 

Nothing  could  have  described  my  condition 
better  than  the  Apostle's  account  of  his  own  con- 
dition in  Rom.  7:  14-23.  It  seemed  as  if  it  might 
have  been  written  for  me,  and  continually  1  cried 
out  with  him,  "Oh  wretched  man  that  1  am !  who 
shall  deliver  me  from  the  body  of  this  death?" 
But  I  could  not  help  wondering  why  Paul  could 
ever  have  asked  that  question,  since  he  must 
surely  have  known  that  in  this  life  there  was  no 
such  deliverance  to  be  found.  He  certainly  was 
aware,  I  reasoned,  that  the  "body  of  death,"  or 
the  "old  man,"  under  which  he  groaned,  was 
always  to  dwell  within  him  and  fetter  him,  and 
that,  until  death  should  release  him  from  its  hate- 
ful presence,  he  need  not  look  for  any  release. 
And  yet  continually  the  fact  stared  me  in  the  face, 
that  Paul  had  not  only  asked  that  question,  but 
had  also  answered  it,  as  though  he  really  believed 
there  was  a  way  of  deliverance,  and  had  said 
triumphantly,  "  1  thank  God  through  Jesus  Christ 
our  Lord."  But  what,  1  asked  myself,  could  he 
have  meant  by  this  triumphant  reply  ?  I  had  en- 
tered into  the  salvation  through  Jesus  Christ  our 


The  Unselfishness  of  God 


Lord,  and  yet  I  knew  no  such  triumphant  deliv- 
erance from  the  "body  of  death "  within  me,  but 
was  continually  brought  into  bondage  to  it.  Why 
was  it?   Where  was  the  difficulty? 

This  feeling  became  especially  strong  after  my 
discovery  of  the  unlimited  love  of  God.  It  seemed 
such  an  ungenerous  return  to  His  boundless  un- 
selfishness to  be  so  lacking  in  those  fruits  of  the 
spirit,  which  the  Bible  showed  us  He  looked  for 
from  His  people,  that  my  whole  soul  cried  out 
against  it.  Moreover,  since  He  had  shown  Him- 
self to  be  so  mighty  to  save  in  the  future,  how 
could  I  believe  He  was  so  powerless  in  the 
present. 

The  Quaker  examples  and  influences  around 
me  seemed  to  say  there  must  be  a  deliverance 
somewhere,  for  they  declared  that  they  had  ex- 
perienced it;  although  they  never  seemed  able  to 
explain  the  "what"  or  the  "how"  in  such  a 
manner  as  that  I  could  understand  it. 

There  was  also  another  influence  in  my  life  that 
seemed  to  tell  the  same  story.  1  possessed  a 
book  which  distinctly  taught  that  God's  children 
were  not  only  commanded  to  bring  forth  the 
fruits  of  the  Spirit,  but  also  that  they  could  do  so; 
and  which  seemed  to  reveal  the  mystical  path- 
way towards  it.  It  was  called  "Spiritual  Prog- 
ress," and  was  a  collection  of  extracts  from  the 
writings  of  Fenelon  and  Madame  Guyon.  This 
book  was  very  dear  to  me,  for  it  had  been  a  gift 
from  my  adored  father,  and  always  lay  on  my 
desk  beside  my  Bible.    When  my  father  was 


Fourth  Epoch  in  My  Religious  Life  233 

quite  a  young  man,  in  fact  only  eighteen  years 
old,  he  was  one  day  walking  along  the  streets  of 
Philadelphia  on  his  way  to  join  his  ship  for  a  long 
voyage  to  China,  and,  passing  a  second-hand 
book  stall,  the  thought  occurred  to  him  to  pur- 
chase a  book  to  read  during  his  voyage.  He  had 
but  lately  entered  into  the  spiritual  life,  and  was 
attracted  by  the  title  of  an  old  book  called  "  Spir- 
itual Progress,"  for  sale  for  a  few  pence.  He 
knew  nothing  of  the  book,  but  bought  it  at  a 
venture,  as  far  as  his  own  consciousness  was 
concerned,  but  unconsciously  no  doubt  guided  by 
the  Lord  whom  he  had  begun  to  trust.  He  says 
in  his  Reminiscences — "This  book  proved  to  be 
of  the  greatest  comfort  to  me.  1  carried  it  in  my 
pocket,  and  at  leisure  moments  read  it  to  my  ever- 
lasting profit,  I  trust.  And  I  cannot  but  thank  a 
kind  Providence  for  giving  me  this  blessed  book." 

He  valued  the  book  so  highly  that,  as  fast  as 
his  children  grew  old  enough,  he  presented  each 
one  of  us  with  a  copy,  and  asked  us  to  read  it 
carefully.  Our  father  was  so  dear  to  us  that  we 
always  wanted  to  please  him,  and  I  for  one  had 
made  the  book  my  special  companion  during  all 
the  time  of  my  first  hungry  and  hopeless  search 
after  God.  Being  a  book  intended  to  teach  souls 
how  to  progress  in  the  spiritual  life,  rather  than 
how  to  enter  into  that  life,  it  was  not  of  much 
definite  help  to  me  in  those  days  of  my  blind 
searching;  and  when  in  1858  I  came  into  the 
knowledge  of  what  1  believed  to  be  "the  plan  of 
salvation  "  settled  upon  in  the  councils  of  Heaven, 


234       The  Unselfishness  of  God 

and  revealed  to  us  in  the  life  and  death  of  Christ, 
and  formulated  and  tabulated  by  the  Apostle 
Paul,  I  filled  the  margins  of  my  copy  of  the  book 
with  what  I  felt  to  be  unanswerable  criticisms  as 
to  its  unsoundness. 

But  all  unconsciously  to  myself  its  teachings 
had  made  a  profound  impression  upon  me;  and, 
even  while  1  criticized,  I  still  was  often  conscious 
of  an  underlying  hunger  after  the  mystical  side 
of  religion  set  forth  in  this  book.  And,  during 
all  the  years  that  followed,  I  was  more  or  less 
tossed  to  and  fro  between  the  claims  of  Ply- 
mouth Brethrenism  on  one  side  and  the  claims 
of  mysticism  on  the  other.  The  practical  busi- 
ness part  of  my  nature  inclined  me  to  the  former, 
while  my  Quaker  inheritance  and  bringing  up, 
and  the  influence  of  my  book  inclined  me  to  the 
latter.  At  one  time  I  would  think  doctrines  were 
of  the  first  importance,  and  life  comparatively 
insignificant,  and  at  other  times  doctrines  would 
seem  to  be  worthless,  unless  backed  by  and 
resulting  in  a  righteous  life.  Sometimes  Paul 
would  have  the  ascendancy,  with  his  teaching  of 
salvation  by  faith,  and  sometimes  James,  with  his 
teaching  that  faith  without  works  was  dead. 
My  Plymouth  Brethren  friends  exalted  Paul,  with 
his  justification  by  faith,  my  dear  Quaker  friend 
and  the  Catholic  Saints  of  my  book  exalted  James 
with  his  justification  by  works.  The  business 
faculty  in  me  leaned  to  the  first,  but  the  mystic 
side  of  my  nature  leaned  to  the  last.  The  result 
was  an  intermittent  unrest  of  soul,  which,  com- 


Fourth  Epoch  in  My  Religious  Life  235 


bined  with  my  distress  at  my  many  failures,  often 
made  me  question,  as  I  have  said,  whether  what 
I  had  learned  of  the  salvation  of  Christ  could 
really  be  all  that  that  salvation  had  to  offer. 

Not  knowing  what  else  to  do,  1  turned  more 
and  more  to  "  sound  doctrines"  to  quiet  my  un- 
rest. Under  Plymouth  Brethren  influence  these 
had  become  very  clearly  defined;  and  they  were 
all  duly  ticketed  and  safely  deposited  in  the 
cubby-holes  of  my  mind,  each  doctrine  in  its 
own  recess,  with  its  name  clearly  marked  under- 
neath. Nothing  could  have  been  neater  or  more 
orderly,  as  far  as  doctrines  were  concerned.  And 
I  had  become  quite  a  successful  teacher  of  these 
same  doctrines,  and  looked  down  pityingly  upon 
everybody  who  was  less  clear  and  definite  than 
myself.  1  often  used  to  wish  1  could  have  most 
of  the  religious  teachers  1  knew  seated  in  a  row 
on  baby  high  chairs  before  me,  that  I  might 
explain  to  them  the  doctrines  they  seemed  to  be 
so  confused  about,  especially  the  doctrines  of 
"justification  by  faith"  and  the  "judicial  stand- 
ing of  the  believer."  I  often  declared  that  if  you 
only  had  these  two  points  clearly  defined,  and  be- 
lieved in  them  fully,  you  were  all  right,  and  need 
not  trouble  about  much  else. 

1  remember  saying  something  of  this  kind  to  a 
cousin  who  had  come  to  me,  troubled  about  her 
shortcomings  in  the  Christian  life,  and  she  ex- 
claimed, "  Why,  Hannah,  according  to  what 
you  say,  all  our  sins,  past,  present,  and  to 
come,  are  forgiven,  if  we  only  believe,  and  it 


236       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


really  makes  very  little  difference  what  we  do." 
"  Yes,"  I  said,  in  my  ignorance,  "  that  is  just  the 
beauty  of  it.  We  are  clothed  with  the  robe  of 
Christ's  righteousness,  and  that  robe  covers  up  all 
the  vileness  that  is  underneath,  and  when  God 
looks  at  us  He  sees,  not  our  unrighteousness,  but 
the  righteousness  of  Christ,  and  accepts  us  because 
of  that." 

Another  time  a  good  Quaker  Preacher,  who 
had  heard  me  expounding  these  crude  views 
said,  "  It  seems  to  me,  Hannah  Smith,  that  thou 
talks  as  if  thou  could  go  to  a  ready-made  clothing 
shop,  and  buy  garments  of  salvation,  and  put  them 
on  then  and  there,  and  come  out  clothed  with 
righteousness  and  ready  for  heaven."  "Yes," 
1  said,  "  that  is  just  how  it  is,  only  1  do  not  need 
to  buy  the  garments,  they  are  given  to  me  by 
Christ.  Thank  thee  for  such  a  beautiful  illus- 
tration, 1  shall  certainly  use  it  to  preach  from." 

1  have  no  doubt  1  took  the  Plymouth  Brethren 
teaching  in  a  far  more  outward  and  literal  sense 
than  was  ever  intended  by  them,  but  I  always 
liked  to  define  things  clearly  to  my  own  mind, 
and  this  seemed  to  me  the  logical  outcome  of 
their  teaching.  Strangely  enough,  1  failed  to  see 
the  incongruity  of  a  God  of  righteousness  cover- 
ing up  our  unrighteousness  with  the  robe  of  His 
own  righteousness,  and  then  making  believe  to 
Himself  that  we  were  fit  for  heaven,  when  all  the 
while  He  must  know  perfectly  well  that  it  was 
nothing  but  an  outward  show,  and  that,  under- 
neath His  beautiful  robe,  our  own  "filthy  gar- 


Fourth  Epoch  in  My  Religious  Life  237 


merits"  were  still  upon  us.  When  now  and 
then  this  was  suggested  to  me  by  some  of  my 
Quaker  friends,  1  stifled  the  misgivings  their 
suggestions  awakened,  by  saying  to  myself,  that, 
although  they  were  dear,  good  people,  they  were 
not  at  all  doctrinal,  and  knew  very  little  about  the 
"plan  of  salvation  "  or  "  justification  by  faith," 
or  the  "judicial  standing  of  the  believer,"  and 
that  their  opinions,  therefore,  were  not  worth 
considering. 

After,  however,  the  discovery  I  had  made  of 
the  wideness  of  God's  love,  as  described  in  my 
last  chapters,  1  began  to  feel  more  and  more  un- 
easy. It  seemed  to  me  a  most  ungrateful  return 
for  such  boundless  love,  that  we,  who  were  the 
objects  of  it,  should  fail  so  lamentably  in  living 
the  sort  of  life  which  we  could  not  but  plainly  see 
was  the  life  He  intended  we  should  live.  And 
more  and  more  1  felt  the  inconsistency  of  having 
a  salvation,  which  was  in  the  end  to  be  so  mag- 
nificently complete,  but  which  failed  now  and 
here  so  conspicuously  in  giving  that  victory  over 
sin  and  over  worry,  that  seemed  everywhere  in 
the  gospel  to  be  set  forth  as  the  present  result  of 
this  salvation. 

Why  was  it,  I  asked  myself  over  and  over,  that 
the  God,  who  had  planned  such  a  glorious  de- 
liverance for  us  in  the  future,  had  not  also  planned 
a  better  deliverance  in  the  present  ? 


XXVI 


THE  WAY  OF  ESCAPE 

THIS  unrest  and  questioning  came  to  a 
culmination  in  the  year  1865.  Family 
circumstances  had  in  that  year  made  it 
necessary  for  us  to  leave  our  delightful  home  in 
Germantown,  and  all  our  wide  interests  there,  to 
live  in  a  remote  village  in  New  Jersey,  where  we 
were  almost  entirely  isolated  from  any  congenial 
society.  It  was  a  pecuniary  advantage  to  us, 
but  was  otherwise  a  very  great  trial,  to  me  espe- 
cially, and  I  confess  that  my  spirit  rebelled  sorely 
at  the  change. 

Little  did  I  dream  that  it  was  here,  in  this  very 
place,  which  seemed  to  me  so  isolated  and 
desolate,  that  a  glorious  light  was  to  dawn,  and 
the  fourth  and  crowning  epoch  of  my  religious 
life  was  to  be  ushered  in. 

It  came  about  in  this  wise.  I  was,  as  I  have 
said,  very  rebellious  at  my  change  of  abode  and 
of  surroundings.  But  I  had  enough  spiritual  in- 
sight to  know  that  this  rebellion  was  wrong; 
that,  since  the  change  was  a  providential  arrange- 
ment over  which  I  had  no  control,  the  only  right 
thing  for  me  to  do  was  to  accept  it  cheerfully, 
and  to  say  heartily,  "  Thy  will  be  done,"  in  regard 
to  it.  But  although  I  scolded  myself  about  it 
238 


The  Way  of  Escape  239 


continually,  I  did  not  seem  able  to  bring  myself 
to  the  point  of  accepting  God's  will;  and  as  a 
fact  I  did  not  really  want  to  accept  it.  I  felt  that 
it  was  very  hard  lines  for  me  to  be  obliged  to 
leave  my  happy  home  in  Germantown,  and  my 
sphere  of  usefulness  there,  to  live  in  such  a  lonely 
far  off  place  as  Millville;  and  it  seemed  to  me  that 
God  ought  not  to  have  allowed  it,  and  that  1  had 
a  right  to  grumble  and  fret.  As  a  consequence  I 
got  into  a  most  uncomfortable  state  of  mind, 
where  even  my  clear  doctrines  failed  to  help  me, 
and  1  began  at  last  to  be  afraid  that  I  was  going 
to  lose  every  bit  of  religion  I  possessed. 

In  the  face  of  a  real  need  such  as  this,  it  was 
no  satisfaction  to  know  1  was  forgiven.  I  wanted 
more  than  forgiveness,  I  wanted  deliverance. 
But  how  to  get  deliverance  1  could  not  conceive. 

As  we  had  a  good  many  Mission  preachers 
visiting  us  from  time  to  time,  1  laid  my  case  be- 
fore several  of  them,  and  asked  for  help,  but  no 
one  seemed  able  to  tell  me  anything.  Finally  a 
very  successful  religious  teacher  came  for  a  few 
days,  and  to  him  1  poured  out  my  trouble  very 
fully,  and  begged  him  to  suggest  some  way  of 
deliverance.  He  took  my  case  into  serious  con- 
sideration, and  said  he  believed  that  what  I 
needed  was  to  undertake  some  Christian  work, 
and  that  if  I  would  start  out  the  next  morning 
and  visit  the  poor  people  in  the  neighbourhood, 
and  see  what  1  could  do  to  help  them,  he  thought 
I  would  find  my  spiritual  life  renewed,  and  all 
would  be  right.    Accordingly  the  next  day  1  pro- 


240       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


ceeded  to  try  the  proposed  remedy.  But  it  did 
not  take  me  long  to  find  out  what  a  futile  remedy 
it  was.  In  ahnost  the  first  house  1  entered,  I 
found  a  woman  in  the  same  sort  of  difficulty  as 
my  own,  and  sorely  needing  help,  and  I  had  no 
help  to  give.  It  seemed  to  me  I  was  like  a  per- 
son trying  to  feed  hungry  people  out  of  an  empty 
bowl,  and  1  saw  that  this  was  a  silly  and  impos- 
sible thing  to  do.  1  went  home  more  discour- 
aged than  ever,  convinced,  that,  before  I  could 
help  any  one  else,  I  must  find  some  deliverance 
for  myself. 

There  was  a  little  dressmaker  in  the  village 
who  often  came  to  sew  for  me;  and,  having  so 
little  society  in  the  neighbourhood,  I  would  some- 
times sit  down  and  talk  with  her,  as  we  sewed 
together.  She  seemed  an  unusually  spiritually 
minded  Christian,  and  I  was  much  interested  in 
her  experiences.  I  found  out  that  she  held  the 
view  that  there  really  was  such  a  thing  as  victory 
over  temptation,  and  that  it  was  not  necessary, 
as  I  had  thought,  to  go  on  all  your  life  sinning 
and  repenting,  but  that  a  Christian  might  actually 
be  delivered.  She  told  me  that  among  the  Metho- 
dists there  was  a  doctrine  taught  which  they 
called  the  "  Doctrine  of  Holiness,"  and  that  there 
was  an  experience  called  "  sanctification  "  or  the 
"second  blessing"  which  brought  you  into  a 
place  of  victory.  I  was  immensely  interested  in 
all  she  had  to  say  about  it,  and  began  to  hope 
that  perhaps  I  might  here  find  the  solution  of  my 
difficulties. 


The  Way  of  Escape  241 


She  told  me  there  was  a  little  meeting  held  in 
the  village  on  Saturday  evenings,  where  this  doc- 
trine was  taught,  and  where  people  gave  their 
experiences  in  regard  to  it,  and  urged  me  to  at- 
tend it.  I  thought  I  might  go  some  time,  but  I 
allowed  things  to  interfere,  feeling  convinced 
that  poor  ignorant  factory  people  could  not  have 
much  to  teach  me.  I  had  studied  and  taught  the 
Bible  a  great  deal,  and  had  rather  a  high  idea  of 
my  own  religious  attainments  in  that  direction, 
and  1  felt  that,  if  I  should  go  to  the  meeting,  I 
should  probably  have  much  more  to  teach  them 
than  they  could  possibly  have  to  teach  me. 

At  last,  however,  one  evening,  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  give  them  the  favour  of  my  presence, 
and  I  confess  a  great  favour  I  felt  it  to  be.  I 
went  to  the  meeting,  therefore,  full  of  my  own 
importance  and  my  own  superiority,  and  thought 
it  very  likely  that  I  should  astonish  them  by  my 
great  biblical  knowledge.  When  1  entered  the 
meeting,  a  factory  woman  with  a  shawl  over  her 
head  (she  probably  did  not  possess  a  bonnet), 
was  speaking,  and  I  heard  her  say  these  words: 
"My  whole  horizon  used  to  be  filled  with  this 
great  big  Me  of  mine,  but  when  I  got  a  sight  of 
Christ  as  my  perfect  Saviour,  this  great  big  Me 
wilted  down  to  nothing." 

These  words  were  a  revelation  to  me.  I  real- 
ized that  I  knew  nothing  whatever  of  any  such 
experience.  My  "Me"  was  very  big  and  very 
self-assertive,  and  I  could  not  imagine  how  it 
could,  by  any  possibility,  "wilt  down  into  noth- 


242       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


ing."  But  a  profound  conviction  came  to  me 
that  this  must  be  real  Christianity,  and  that  it 
was,  perhaps,  the  very  thing  I  was  longing  for. 
Needless  to  say,  I  did  not  undertake  to  do  any 
teaching  that  night,  but  sat  as  a  learner  at  the 
feet  of  these  humble  Christians,  who  knew  but 
little  of  book  learning,  but  whose  souls  were 
evidently  taught  by  the  Holy  Spirit  depths  of 
spiritual  truth  of  which  I  understood  nothing.  I 
began  to  attend  the  meeting  regularly  as  a  learner, 
and  to  embrace  every  opportunity  possible  to  talk 
with  those  who  understood  this  life.  I  found 
that  the  gist  of  it  was  exactly  what  Paul  meant 
when  he  said,  "Not  I,  but  Christ,"  and  that  the 
victory  1  sought,  was  to  come  by  ceasing  to  live 
my  own  life,  and  by  letting  the  power  of  God 
"work  in  me  to  will  and  to  do  of  His  good 
pleasure." 

In  my  diary  under  date  of  10  mo.,  i8th,  1866, 
I  say : — 

"The  Lord  has  been  teaching  me  in  many 
ways  of  late  my  utter  weakness  in  the  presence 
of  temptation.  I  have  grown  much  in  knowl- 
edge, but  I  have  not  grown  in  grace,  and  I  find 
that  I  have  not  actually  any  more  power  over  sin 
than  1  had  when  1  was  first  converted.  This  has 
not  caused  me  to  doubt  the  fact  of  my  being  a 
child  of  God,  justified  and  forgiven,  a  possf;s;-or 
of  eternal  life  and  an  heir  of  a  heavenly  inheri- 
tance. But,  even  while  having  this  assurance, 
and  never  losing  it,  I  have  found  that,  whilr-  My 
heart  condemns  me,  I  cannot  be  happy;  r^ii.^  I 
have  been  led  to  long  for  more  holiness,  for  n.ore 
power  over  sin,  for  more  uninterrupted  -om- 


The  Way  of  Escape  243 


munion  with  God.  But  how  to  get  at  it  I  could 
not  tell.  Resolutions  have  proved  utterly  useless, 
and  my  own  efforts  have  been  all  in  vain.  My 
prayers  have  been  unanswered;  and  I  have  been 
ready  a  thousand  times  to  give  up  in  despair,  and 
to  conclude  that  it  was  not  the  will  of  God  that 
I  should  ever  attain  to  a  victory  over  sin.  And 
yet  the  Bible  presents  such  a  different  picture  of 
the  Christian  life, — 'blameless,  harmless,  without 
rebuke,'  with  every  temptation  a  'way  of  es- 
cape,' 'purified,'  'conformed  to  the  image  of 
Christ,'  '  holy  as  He  is  holy.' 

"1  find  there  are  some  Christians  who  say  that 
by  receiving  Christ  by  faith  for  our  sanctification, 
just  as  we  received  Him  by  faith  for  our  justifi- 
cation, all  this  work  that  I  long  for  is  accom- 
plished. That  is,  the  way  of  accomplishing  it  is 
discovered.  It  is  found  out  that  the  Bible  teaches 
that  the  Lord  can  deliver  from  the  power  of  sin 
as  well  as  from  its  guilt,  and  the  soul  learns  to 
trust  Him  to  do  it,  and  ceases  to  rely  upon  its 
own  resolutions,  or  upon  its  own  efforts  after 
holiness,  but  commits  the  whole  work  of  being 
kept  from  evil  and  delivered  from  temptation,  to 
the  Lord  alone. 

"I  begin  to  see  more  clearly  that  the  Lord  is 
worthy  of  my  most  unlimited  and  boundless 
confidence;  and  perhaps  this  is  the  dawning  of 
the  light  I  have  been  groping  for. 

"It  is  a  Methodist  doctrine,  and  I  have  been 
used  to  hearing  Methodists  much  objected  to  on 
account  of  it,  but  it  seems  to  be  the  only  thing 
that  can  supply  my  needs,  and  1  feel  impelled  to 
try  it." 

Under  date  of  2  mo.  nth,  1867,  I  record  my 
'-'^orts  to  lay  hold  of  this  conquering  faith,  and 
aud: — 


244       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


"The  present  attitude  of  my  soul  is  that  of 
trusting  in  the  Lord.  And  I  have  found  it  is  a 
practical  reality  that  He  does  deliver.  When 
temptation  comes,  if  I  turn  at  once  to  Him, 
breathing  this  prayer,  '  Lord,  save  me.  I  cannot 
save  myself  from  this  sin,  but  Thou  canst  and 
wilt,'  He  never  fails  me.  Either  He  completely 
changes  my  feelings  in  the  case,  or  He  causes  me 
to  forget  all  about  it,  and  my  victory,  or  rather 
His  victory,  is  entire.  This  is  a  secret  of  the 
Christian  life  that  I  never  knew  before.  .  .  . 
But  why  have  I  not  known  it?  Why  has  my 
course  been  such  a  halting,  miserable  one,  when 
1  might  have  lived  in  victory  ?  What  a  striking 
proof  1  have  been  of  the  inherent  legality  and 
unbelief  of  the  human  heart,  for,  while  trusting 
the  Lord  entirely  and  only  for  my  justification,  I 
have  always  been  trusting  myself  for  my  sancti- 
fication.  ...  I  have  depended  upon  my 
own  efforts,  my  own  resolutions,  my  own 
watchfulness,  my  own  fervency,  my  own  striv- 
ings, to  accomplish  the  work  of  holy  living. 
This  was  legality.  It  was  as  truly  legality  as  if  I 
had  trusted  to  these  things  to  save  my  soul  in 
the  first  place.  1  was  'frustrating'  the  grace  of 
God  as  really  in  regard  to  my  sanctification  as 
those  whom  I  have  been  used  to  condemn  so 
utterly  as  legalists,  were  doing  it  in  regard  to 
their  justification.  I  could  easily  see  how  they 
made  the  death  of  Christ  of  none  effect  by  their 
legal  strivings,  but  I  was  blind  to  the  fact  that  I 
also  was  doing  the  same  thing.  Our  strivings 
to  be  sure  were  with  a  different  end  in  view,  but 
it  was  still  in  both  cases  our  own  striving — in 
both  it  was  self,  and  not  Christ.  '  For,  if  right- 
eousness come  by  the  law,  then  Christ  is  dead  in 
vain.'  But  now  how  different  it  is!  Now  I 
commit  my  daily  life  to  Him,  as  well  as  my  fu- 
ture destiny,  and  1  trust  Him  just  as  nakedly  for 


The  Way  of  Escape  245 


the  one  as  for  the  other.  I  am  equally  powerless 
in  both  cases.  I  can  do  nothing — not  even  I,  the 
new  man, — and  if  the  Lord  does  not  do  it  all,  it 
will  not  be  done.  But  oh!  glorious  truth.  He 
does  do  it!  When  I  trust  Him  He  gives  me  de- 
liverance from  the  power  of  sin  as  well  as  from 
its  guilt.  I  can  leave  all  in  His  care — my  cares, 
my  temptations,  my  growth,  my  service,  my 
daily  life  moment  by  moment.  Oh  the  rest  and 
calm  of  a  life  like  this! 

".  .  .  And  this  is  the  Methodist  'blessing 
of  holiness.'  Couched  by  them  it  is  true  in  terms 
that  I  cannot  altogether  endorse,  and  held  amid 
what  seems  to  me  a  mixture  of  error,  but  still 
really  and  livingly  experienced  and  enjoyed  by 
them.  I  feel  truly  thankful  to  them  for  their  tes- 
timony to  its  reality,  and  I  realize  that  it  is  far 
better  to  have  the  experience,  even  if  mixed  with 
error,  than  to  live  without  it,  and  be  very  doc- 
trinally  correct,  as  was  my  former  case." 

My  diary  at  this  date  is  full  of  the  wonderful 
discoveries  I  was  making,  but  these  extracts  will 
suffice.  From  this  time  the  possibilities  of  faith 
opened  out  before  me  in  a  way  I  had  never 
dreamed  of.  I  saw  that  it  was  in  very  truth  the 
victory  that  overcometh  the  world,  and  I  mar- 
velled at  my  blindness  in  never  having  discovered 
it  before.  For  a  third  time  a  skin  seemed  to  be 
peeled  off  the  Bible,  and  it  became  again  a  new 
book  to  me. 

"  The  truth  that  was  mine  yesterday 

Is  larger  truth  to-day  ; 
Its  face  has  aspect  more  divine 

Its  kingship  fuller  sway. 
For  truth  must  grow,  as  ages  roll, 
And  God  looms  larger  in  the  soul," 


246       The  Unselfishness  of  God 

One  day  1  was  present  at  a  meeting  where  the 
speaker  read  John  15,  and  the  words  "Without 
Me  ye  can  do  nothing"  struck  me  with  amaze- 
ment. Hundreds  of  times  before  1  had  read  and 
repeated  these  words,  and  had  even  preached 
from  them.  But  now,  so  ablaze  were  they  with 
wondrous  meaning,  that  it  almost  seemed  as  if 
they  must  have  been  newly  inserted  in  the  Bible 
since  last  1  had  opened  it.  Here  was  our  Lord 
saying  distinctly  "Without  Me  ye  can  do  noth- 
ing," and  yet  all  the  while  I  had  been  thinking  I 
could  and  I  must  do  so  much!  What  sort  of 
meaning  had  I  been  giving  hitherto  to  this  word 
"nothing"?  1  tried  to  remember,  but  all  was 
a  blank.    1  simply  had  not  even  noticed  it. 

Another  day  I  came  across  in  my  reading  that 
passage  in  the  sixth  of  Matthew,  where  our  Lord 
exhorts  us  to  "  take  no  thought  for  our  life,"  on 
the  ground  that  our  Heavenly  Father  takes 
thought  for  us;  and  bases  His  assertion  on  the 
fact  that,  since  God  cares  for  the  fowls  of  the  air 
and  the  lilies  of  the  field,  He  must  necessarily  do 
at  least  as  much  for  His  children  who  are.  He 
Himself  declares,  of  more  value  than  many  spar- 
rows. I  read  the  passage  over  and  over  with 
utter  amazement.  Could  it  really  be  true? 
Had  it  actually  been  in  the  Bible  all  these  years  ? 
And,  if  it  had,  why  had  1  never  seen  it  ?  And 
yet  as  a  fact  not  only  had  1  seen  it,  but  I  had 
even  known  it  by  heart,  and  had  many  times  re- 
peated it.  But  in  the  only  sense  worth  consid- 
ering 1  never  had  seen  it  before.    Now  1  saw; 


The  Way  of  Escape  247 


and,  at  the  sight,  cares,  and  worries,  and  fears,  and 
anxieties,  vanished  like  mists  before  the  sun. 

And  it  was  the  same  with  ail  the  old  familiar 
texts — they  were  literally  illuminated  with  a  new 
meaning.  Every  page  of  the  Bible  seemed  to 
declare  in  trumpet  tones  the  reality  of  a  victori- 
ous and  triumphant  life  to  be  lived  by  faith  in 
the  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  My  whole  soul  was  afire 
with  my  discovery,  and  1  could  scarcely  think  or 
talk  of  anything  else.  I  had  found  out  some- 
thing about  the  salvation  of  Christ  of  which  I 
had  never  even  dreamed,  something  that  proved 
Him  to  be  a  far  more  complete  Saviour  than  1 
could  have  conceived  of. 

I  saw  that  He  was  not  only  my  Saviour  for  the 
future,  but  He  was  also  my  all-sufficient  Saviour 
for  the  present.  He  was  my  Captain  to  fight 
my  battles  for  me,  in  order  that  I  need  not  fight 
them  myself;  He  was  my  Burden-bearer  to  carry 
my  burdens,  in  order  that  I  might  roll  them  off  of 
my  own  weak  shoulders;  He  was  my  Fortress  to 
hide  me  from  my  enemies;  my  Shield  to  protect 
me;  my  Guide  to  lead  me;  my  Comforter  to  con- 
sole me;  my  Shepherd  to  care  for  me.  No 
longer  did  I  need  to  care  for,  and  protect,  and 
fight  for  myself.  It  was  all  in  the  hands  of  One 
who  was  mighty  to  save;  and  what  could  I  do 
but  trust  Him  ? 

No  words  can  express  the  fullness  and  the  all- 
sufficiency  that  1  saw  was  stored  up  for  me 
in  the  Lord. 

I  could  not  keep  such  glorious  news  to  myself. 


248       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


Every  one  who  came  within  the  range  of  my  in- 
fluence was  obliged  to  listen  to  my  story. 

One  of  the  first  to  be  told  was  the  cousin 
whom  1  have  mentioned  a  little  way  back,  as 
being  surprised  at  my  teaching  of  the  necessity 
of  a  continual  bondage  to  sin,  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  there  was  full  forgiveness  for  all  our  sins, 
past,  present,  and  to  come.  I  seized  the  earliest 
opportunity  1  could  find  to  have  a  visit  from  her, 
and,  on  her  arrival,  greeted  her  with  the  words, 
"Oh,  Carrie,  I  have  something  so  wonderful 
to  tell  you.  We  must  not  lose  a  minute  before 
1  begin." 

As  soon  as  we  could  get  alone  I  poured  out  to 
her  my  new  discovery,  telling  her  I  had  found 
out  that  there  was  in  Christ,  not  only  forgiveness 
for  sin,  but  also  deliverance  from  its  power, 
and  that  we  need  not  any  longer  be  the  "slaves 
of  sin,"  but  might  be  more  than  conquerors 
through  Him. 

My  cousin  listened  with  amazed  interest,  her 
face  growing  more  astonished  and  perplexed 
every  minute,  and  when  at  last  I  paused  to  take 
breath,  she  burst  out — "But  Hannah,  what  do 
you  mean  ?  You  have  always  told  me  that  even 
although  you  were  a  child  of  God  you  could  not 
expect  to  be  delivered  from  sin,  or  from  worries, 
because  the  old  Adam  was  too  strong  for  you, 
and  the  new  nature  could  not  conquer  the  old. 
Why  on  earth,"  she  asked  with  indignant  remon- 
strance, "have  you  let  me  go  on  all  this  long 
time  with  that  idea?   When  I  was  converted 


The  Way  of  Escape  249 


I  fully  expected  to  be  delivered  from  sin,  and 
from  all  worrying  and  unrest  of  soul,  but  when 
I  talked  to  you  about  it,  you  said  it  was  impos- 
sible in  this  life;  and  I  thought  of  course  you 
knew,  and  so  I  gave  up  all  hope  of  it.  And  now 
here  you  say  exactly  the  opposite.  It  certainly 
is  very  confusing,  and  I  really  do  not  know 
what  to  think." 

I  agreed  with  her  that  it  was  confusing,  but 
that  after  all  it  had  only  been  ignorance  in  the 
old  days  that  had  made  possible  such  a  false 
view  of  things  as  I  had  then  taught,  and  that 
now  I  had  discovered  something  far  better  in  the 
gospel  of  Christ,  and  that  all  we  had  to  do  was 
to  throw  the  old  false  view  overboard,  and 
accept  the  new  truth  that  had  been  shown  us. 
My  cousin,  who  had  all  along  had  an  instinct,  in 
spite  of  all  that  was  said,  that  the  other  way 
could  not  be  the  best  the  salvation  of  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ  had  to  offer,  embraced  with  avidity 
this  new  teaching  of  deliverance  from  temptation 
through  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  carried  it  out 
far  more  faithfully  than  I  did. 

The  practical  working  of  my  new  discovery 
amazed  me.  I  committed  the  whole  matter 
of  my  rebellious  spirit  to  the  Lord,  and  told  Him 
/  could  not  conquer  it,  but  that  I  believed  He 
could  conquer  it  for  me;  and  then  I  stood  aside, 
as  it  were,  and  left  the  battle  to  Him.  And 
to  my  indescribable  joy  I  found  all  my  rebellion 
taken  away,  and  such  a  spirit  of  peaceful  ac- 
quiescence in  the  will  of  God  put  into  its  place, 


250       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


that  the  life  which  had  before  looked  so  utterly 
distasteful  to  me,  began  to  look  pleasant  and 
even  desirable.  I  found  I  could  say  "  Thy  will 
be  done"  heartily  and  with  thankfulness.  My 
discovery  proved  itself  to  be  a  practical  success 
and  1  was  enchanted. 

In  numberless  ways  I  tested  it  and  it  never 
failed.  One  striking  instance  1  remember  vividly. 
I  had  been  imposed  upon  in  what  I  felt  to  be 
a  most  unjustifiable  way,  and  in  what  I  can  see 
now,  in  looking  back,  was  really  unjustifiable, 
and  1  felt  very  much  aggrieved,  and  was  tempted 
to  go  into  a  fit  of  sulks  and  to  show  my  dis- 
pleasure by  being  sulky  for  a  week  or  two. 
But,  immediately,  when  the  temptation  came, 
a  sight  of  the  way  of  escape  came  also,  and 
I  rushed  off  to  be  alone  somewhere  that  1  might 
fight  the  battle  out.  I  remember  that  1  was 
so  boiling  over  with  provocation  that  1  could  not 
walk  quietly,  but  fairly  ran  up  to  my  bedroom, 
slamming  the  doors  after  me.  When  safe  in  the 
seclusion  of  my  room,  1  kneeled  down  and  said, 
"Lord,  1  am  provoked,  1  want  to  be  provoked, 
and  1  think  1  have  cause  for  being  provoked;  but 
1  know  1  ought  not  to  be,  and  1  want  the  victory. 
I  hand  this  whole  matter  over  to  Thee.  1  cannot 
fight  this  battle.  Thou  must  fight  it  for  me. 
Jesus  saves  me  now."  1  said  these  words  out  of 
a  heart  that  seemed  brimful  of  rebellion.  Ac- 
cording to  all  appearances  I  was  declaring  a 
lie  when  1  said  the  Lord  saved  me,  for  1  was  not 
saved,  and  it  did  not  look  likely  1  could  be. 


The  Way  of  Escape  251 


But  by  faith  1  laid  hold  of  it,  and  declared  even 
in  the  midst  of  turmoil  that  the  Lord  could  and 
did  save  me  now.  The  result  v^as  that  im- 
mediately a  summer  morning  of  peace  and  happi- 
ness spread  over  me.  All  my  resentment  and 
provocation  vanished,  and  I  felt  as  happy  as  a 
bird  in  the  sunshine  at  the  thought  of  the  very 
thing  which  before  had  made  me  so  angry.  My 
faith  had  laid  hold  of  a  divine  fact.  I  had  proved 
that  God  was  able  to  deliver,  and  that  He  did 
deliver  the  soul  that  trusted  Him.  I  realized 
that  it  was  a  wonderful  truth  that  I  had  no  need 
to  fight  my  own  battles,  for  the  Lord  fought  for 
me,  and  I  could  hold  my  peace. 

Many  hundreds  of  similar  battles  have  been 
fought  and  won  for  me  since  by  the  Captain  of 
my  Salvation,  and  the  secret  1  learned  then,  of 
handing  over  the  battle  to  the  Lord,  and  leaving  it 
in  His  hands,  has  never  failed  to  work  when  I 
have  acted  on  it.  It  has  been  to  me  over  and  over 
a  practical  illustration  of  Christ's  words,  "Be  of 
good  cheer,  for  I  have  overcome  the  world."  He 
has  overcome  it,  not  we;  and  He  will  always 
overcome  it  when  we  will  put  the  matter  into  His 
hands,  and  will  stand  aside  and  let  Him  fight. 
Never  once,  when  1  have  done  this,  have  I  been 
disappointed;  for  it  is  blessedly  true,  although  so 
few  seem  to  know  it,  that  He  is  able  to  save  them 
to  the  uttermost  that  come  unto  God  by  Him,  see- 
ing He  ever  liveth  to  make  intercession  for  them. 
He  was  able  then,  when  the  Epistle  to  the  He- 
brews was  written,  and  He  is  able  now;  for  He 


252       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


is  not  dead,  but  "ever  liveth"  to  make  interces- 
sion for  us. 

1  had  discovered  that  faith  is  the  conquering 
law  of  the  universe.  God  spake,  and  it  was 
done,  and,  relying  upon  Him,  we  too  may  speak 
and  it  shall  be  done.  A  wonderful  light  streamed 
upon  I  John  5:14,  15.  "And  this  is  the  confi- 
dence that  we  have  in  Him,  that  if  we  ask  any- 
thing according  to  His  will.  He  heareth  us:  and 
if  we  know  that  He  hear  us,  whatsoever  we  ask, 
we  know  that  we  have  the  petitions  that  we 
desired  of  Him."  I  had  always  hitherto  thought 
of  this  passage  as  one  of  those  beautiful  dreams 
of  the  Christian  life  that  nobody,  in  their  senses, 
supposed  for  a  moment  was  meant  to  be  realized 
in  this  world;  but  now  I  saw  it  was  no  dream, 
but  was  simply  the  statement  of  a  Divine  law,  the 
law  of  faith;  a  law  as  certain  in  its  action  as  the 
law  of  gravitation,  if  only  one  understood  it. 

Our  Lord  tells  us  over  and  over  that  according 
to  our  faith  it  shall  be  unto  us,  and  actually 
asserts,  without  any  limitations,  that  all  things 
are  possible  to  him  that  believeth;  but  I  had 
never  supposed  this  was  anything  more  than  a 
romance.  Now  1  saw  that  He  had  been  simply 
enunciating  a  law  of  the  spiritual  kingdom, 
which  any  one  might  try  and  prove  for  them- 
selves. I  saw  that  faith  links  us  to  the  Almighty 
power  of  God,  and  makes  it  possible  for  our 
weakness  to  draw  down  unfailing  supplies  of 
His  strength;  and  there  seemed  no  limit  to  its 
possibilities. 


The  Way  of  Escape  253 


"  Faith,  mighty  faith,  the  promise  sees 
And  looks  at  that  alone  ; 
Laughs  at  impossibilities, 
And  cries,  It  shall  be  done." 

I  wish  I  could  say  that  I  have  always  since 
lived  in  the  power  of  this  divine  law  of  faith. 
But  one  thing  I  can  say,  that  whenever  and 
wherever  1  have  chosen  to  lay  hold  by  faith  of 
God's  strength,  it  has  always  been  made  perfect 
in  my  weakness,  and  I  have  had  the  victory;  and 
over  and  over  I  have  been  able  to  say  with  the 
apostle,  "  In  all  these  things  we  are  more  than 
conquerors  through  Him  that  loved  us." 


XXVII 


A  DISCOVERY,  NOT  AN  ATTAINMENT 


GAIN  I  want  to  make  the  fact  clear  that, 


just  as  it  was  before,  what  had  come  to 


X  A- me  now  was  a  discovery,  and  in  no  sense 
an  attainment.  1  had  not  become  a  better  woman 
than  I  was  before,  but  I  had  found  out  that  Christ 
was  a  better  Saviour  than  I  had  thought  He  was. 
I  was  not  one  bit  more  able  to  conquer  my  temp- 
tations than  I  had  been  in  the  past,  but  1  had  dis- 
covered that  He  was  able  and  willing  to  conquer 
them  for  me.  I  had  no  more  wisdom  or  right- 
eousness of  my  own  than  I  had  ever  had,  but  I 
had  found  out  that  He  could  really  and  actually 
be  made  unto  me,  as  the  Apostle  declared  He 
would  be,  wisdom,  and  righteousness,  and  sanc- 
tification,  and  redemption. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  first  time  this  declara- 
tion was  proved  to  me  to  be,  not  only  a  pious  say- 
ing, but  a  downright  fact.  Shortly  after  I  had 
come  to  know  something  of  the  fullness  of 
Christ's  salvation,  an  occasion  arose  in  my  life 
when  I  realized  that  I  should  have  need  of  a  very 
large  amount  of  patience.  An  individual,  who 
was  especially  antagonistic  to  me,  was  coming  to 
spend  two  weeks  at  our  house.  She  had  always 
in  the  past  been  very  provoking  and  irritating, 


254 


A  Discovery,  Not  an  Attainment  255 

and  I  felt,  as  the  day  drew  near  for  her  arrival, 
that,  if  1  was  to  behave  to  her  in  a  really  Christ- 
like way,  I  should  need  a  far  greater  supply  of 
patience  than  1  usually  possessed.  As  I  was  still 
new  in  the  way  of  faith,  1  supposed  I  could  only 
secure  a  sufficient  supply  by  wrestling  for  it  in 
prayer,  and  I  decided,  as  my  days  were  very  busy 
ones,  to  devote  a  whole  night  before  her  arrival 
to  the  wrestling  necessary  to  secure  enough  pa- 
tience to  last  me  throughout  the  two  weeks  of 
her  stay.  Therefore  one  night,  after  the  rest  of 
the  family  had  retired,  I  shut  myself  up  in  my 
room,  taking  with  me  a  plate  of  biscuits,  which  I 
had  provided  in  case  I  should  be  hungry;  and, 
kneeling  down  by  my  bed,  I  prepared  myself  for 
an  all  night  conflict.  I  confess  I  felt  rather  like  a 
martyr,  for  1  had  always  found  long  times  of 
prayer  very  fatiguing;  but  a  stock  of  patience 
was  a  necessity,  and  1  supposed  this  was  the  only 
way  to  get  it.  1  seemed  to  picture  it  to  myself 
something  as  if  a  great  lump  of  patience  was  to  be 
let  down  into  my  heart,  from  which  I  could  break 
off  a  bit  to  use  whenever  the  need  should  arise. 
But  scarcely  had  my  knees  touched  the  floor  when, 
like  a  flash,  there  came  into  my  mind  the  declara- 
tion to  which  I  have  referred,  "  But  of  Him  are  ye 
in  Christ  Jesus,  who  of  God  is  made  unto  us  wis- 
dom, and  righteousness,  and  sanctification,  and  re- 
demption ;  that,  according  as  it  is  written.  He  that 
glorieth,  let  Him  glory  in  the  Lord."  "Yes,"! 
exclaimed  inwardly,  "and  of  course  patience  as 
well! "   And  I  rose  at  once  from  my  knees,  with 


256       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


an  absolute  conviction  that  I  did  not  in  the  least 
need,  as  I  had  thought,  to  lay  in  a  big  stock  of 
patience  to  use  during  my  friend's  visit,  but  that  I 
could  simply,  as  the  occasion  arose,  look  to  the 
Lord  for  a  present  supply  for  my  present  need.  I 
seemed  to  see  Christ  as  a  great  storehouse  of  sup- 
plies, from  which  I  could  draw  whatever  grace  or 
strength  1  required;  and  I  realized  that  it  was  ut- 
ter folly  for  me  to  try  and  carry  about  with  me 
stocks  of  grace,  as  it  were  in  packages  in  my 
pocket,  which,  even  if  1  could  secure  them,  would 
be  sure  to  be  mislaid  just  when  1  needed  them 
most. 

It  followed  as  a  matter  of  course,  that  my  faith 
was  fully  answered;  and,  although  my  friend 
was  more  aggravating  than  ever,  the  necessary 
patience  was  always  supplied  at  every  moment 
of  her  stay.  And,  what  was  even  better  than 
this  especial  deliverance,  1  had  learned  the  mag- 
nificent fact  that  the  inexhaustible  storehouse  of 
God's  supplies  lies  always  open  to  the  needs  and 
claims  of  His  children.  My  patience  in  this  case 
might  be  called  an  attainment  by  some,  but  I  had 
not  attained  it,  1  had  simply  discovered  a  supply 
of  patience  in  the  Divine  Storehouse,  and  by  faith 
I  had  taken  possession  hour  by  hour  of  what  that 
hour  required. 

When  reduced  to  its  final  analysis,  the  discov- 
ery 1  had  made  was  simply  this,  that  there  was 
stored  up  for  me  in  Christ  a  perfect  supply  for  all 
my  needs,  and  that  faith  and  faith  only  was  the 
channel  through  which  this  supply  could  flow; 


A  Discovery,  Not  an  Attainment  257 


that  struggling,  and  wrestling,  and  worrying,  and 
agonizing,  cannot  bring  this  supply,  but  that  faith 
always  will  and  always  does.  This  seems  a  very 
simple  discovery  to  have  made,  and  one  would 
suppose  every  child  of  God,  who  reads  the  Bible 
and  believes  it,  would  necessarily  know  it.  But 
I  for  one  did  not  know  it,  even  after  nine  years 
of  careful  Bible  study,  and  of  earnest  Christian 
striving,  and  when  1  did  at  last  discover  it,  it  rev- 
olutionized my  life. 

There  was  no  mystery  about  it.  It  was  not 
something  added  on  to  the  gospel  story,  but  was 
only  the  real  meaning  of  the  Gospel.  Christ  came, 
according  to  the  Bible,  to  accomplish  certain  pur- 
poses; and  the  discovery  I  had  made  was  simply 
that  He  might  be  depended  on  actually  to  accom- 
plish these  purposes.  It  goes  without  saying 
that,  if  this  is  the  fact,  then  those  who  want 
these  purposes  accomplished,  should  hand  them 
over  to  the  One  who  has  undertaken  to  do  it; 
and  to  me  this  seemed  then,  and  has  seemed  ever 
since,  not  any  especial  religious  attainment,  but 
only  good  sound  ordinary  common  sense. 

When  I  call  in  a  builder  to  build  me  a  house,  I 
do  so  because  he  knows  how  to  build,  and  is 
able  to  accomplish  it,  while  I  neither  know  how 
nor  am  able.  But  I  do  not  consider  the  fact  of 
my  putting  the  work  into  his  hands  as  an  attain- 
ment on  my  part,  but  only  as  a  common-sense 
arrangement.  If  I  am  puzzled  how  to  cross  a  roar- 
ing river,  and  discover  a  bridge,  I  do  not  call  my 
action  in  crossing  that  bridge  an  attainment,  but 


258       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


simply  and  only  a  most  common-sense  pro- 
ceeding. 

Consequently  it  always  seems  to  me  much 
nearer  the  truth  to  use  the  word  gifts  rather  than 
the  word  attainments.  Attainments  imply  work 
and  effort  on  our  part,  and  Christian  graces  are 
all  a  free  gift  from  God.  Those  who  are  to 
"  reign  in  life  "  are  not  those  who  attain  to  great 
heights  of  piety,  but  those  who  "receive  abun- 
dance of  grace,  and  of  the  gift  of  righteousness." 
He  that  spared  not  His  own  Son,  but  delivered 
Him  up  for  us  all,  how  shall  He  not  with  Him 
also  freely  give  us  all  things?  "Therefore  let 
no  man  glory  in  men;  for  all  things  are  yours; 
whether  Paul  or  Apollos,  or  the  world,  or  life,  or 
death,  or  things  present,  or  things  to  come;  all  are 
yours  and  ye  are  Christ's,  and  Christ  is  God's." 
To  find  out  that  all  things  are  really  ours,  is  not  an 
attainment  but  a  magnificent  discovery,  and  the 
soul  that  makes  it,  would  be  amazingly  lacking  in 
common  sense  not  to  take  possession  of  every- 
thing it  needs. 

It  would  take  the  pen  of  an  angel  to  tell  all  that 
this  discovery  meant  to  me.  But  suffice  it  to  say 
that  life  was  transformed,  and  that  where  failure 
and  defeat  reigned  before,  victory  and  triumph 
became,  whenever  1  chose  to  lay  hold  of  them  by 
faith,  my  daily  and  hourly  portion.  I  was  no 
longer  the  "slave  of  sin,"  compelled  whether  I 
would  or  no  to  obey  it,  but  had  entered  into  the 
"liberty  wherewith  Christ  hath  made  us  free," 
and  did  not  need  to  be  "entangled  again  with 


A  Discovery,  Not  an  Attainment  259 

the  old  yoke  of  bondage."  I  thought  I  was 
happy  before,  but  my  happiness  now  was  such 
as  could  not  be  described  in  words,  and  it  often 
seemed  to  me  that  even  Heaven  itself  could 
hardly  have  more  to  offer.  But  my  joy  was  joy 
in  the  Lord,  and  not  joy  in  myself,  nor  in  any  at- 
tainments of  my  own,  for  1  had  none.  I  under- 
stood what  the  prophet  meant  when  he  said, 
"  Thus  saith  the  Lord,  let  not  the  wise  man  glory 
in  his  wisdom,  neither  let  the  mighty  man  glory 
in  his  might;  let  not  the  rich  man  glory  in  his 
riches:  but  let  him  that  glorieth  glory  in  this  that 
he  understandeth  and  knoweth  Me,  that  1  am  the 
Lord  which  exercise  loving  kindness,  judgment, 
and  righteousness,  in  the  earth;  for  in  these 
things  I  delight,  said  the  Lord." 

1  had  no  wisdom,  nor  might,  nor  riches  to  glory 
in,  but  1  was  learning  to  know  the  Lord,  and  in 
Him  I  could  glory  with  all  my  heart. 

"  Where  is  boasting  then  ?  "  asks  the  Apostle. 
And  he  answers  in  words  that  now  at  last  I  un- 
derstood, "It  is  excluded.  By  what  law  ?  of 
works  ?  Nay  but  by  the  law  of  faith."  How 
can  the  soul  boast  of  its  attainments,  when  it 
has  none;  and  how  can  it  fail  to  make  its  boast 
in  the  Lord  when  He  so  freely  bestows  upon  it 
the  supply  for  all  its  needs  ?  "  For  by  grace  are 
ye  saved  through  faith;  and  that  not  of  your- 
selves; it  is  the  gift  of  God:  not  of  works,  lest 
any  man  should  boast."  "  For  they  got  not  the 
land  in  possession  by  their  own  sword,  neither 
did  their  own  arm  save  them;  but  thy  right 


26o       The  Unselfishness  of  God 

hand,  and  thine  arm,  and  the  light  of  thy  coun- 
tenance, because  thou  hadst  a  favour  unto  them." 

This  was  my  experience,  and  with  all  my  heart 
1  could  unite  in  the  words  of  the  Psalmist — "  In 
God  we  boast  all  the  day  long,  and  praise  Thy 
Name  forever!  " 


XXVIII 


THE  SECRET  OF  A  HAPPY  LIFE 

THIS  new  life  I  had  entered  upon  has 
been  called  by  several  different  names. 
The  Methodists  called  it  "The  Second 
Blessing,"  or  "The  Blessing  of  Sanctification;  " 
the  Presbyterians  called  it  "  The  Higher  Life,"  or 
"  The  Life  of  Faith;  "  the  Friends  called  it  "The 
Life  hid  with  Christ  in  God."  But  by  whatever 
name  it  may  be  called,  the  truth  at  the  bottom  of 
each  name  is  the  same,  and  can  be  expressed  in 
four  little  words,  "Not  I,  but  Christ."  In  every 
case  it  means  that  we  abandon  ourselves  to  the 
Lord  for  Him  to  work  in  us,  both  to  will  and  to 
do  of  His  good  pleasure,  that  we  take  Him  to  be 
our  Saviour  from  the  power  of  sin  as  well  as 
from  its  punishment,  and  that  we  trust  Him  to 
give  us,  according  to  His  promise,  grace  to  help 
in  every  time  of  need. 

Personally  I  prefer  to  call  it  "The  life  of  faith," 
as  being  more  simple.  But,  in  that  book  of  mine, 
in  which  1  have  most  fully  set  it  forth,  I  have 
called  it  the  "Secret  of  a  Happy  Life," '  for  the  rea- 
son that  it  was  for  so  long  a  secret  from  myself, 

>  Fleming  H.  Revell  Company,  158  Fifth  Ave.,  New  York; 
James  Nisbet  &  Co.,  L't'd,  21  Berners  St.,  London. 

261 


262       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


and  because  it  is,  I  fear,  still  a  secret  from  hun- 
dreds of  God's  children,  who  are  groaning  under 
the  same  grievous  burdens  as  I  once  had  to  carry. 
It  was  not  a  secret  in  the  sense  that  God  had 
hidden  it,  but  only  a  secret  in  the  sense  that  I  had 
not  discovered  it.  It  was  and  is  an  open  secret, 
spread  wide  out  before  all  eyes  in  the  Bible,  if 
only  I  had  had  the  spiritual  discernment  to  see  it. 

"  The  secrets  of  the  gods  are  from  of  old, 
Guarded  forever,  and  forever  told  ; — 
Blabbed  in  all  ears,  but  published  in  a  tongue 
Whose  purport  the  gods  only  can  unfold." 

An  ox  and  a  philosopher  may  look  at  the  same 
field,  but  they  will  not  see  the  same  things  there; 
and  my  eyes,  before  and  after  this  glorious  dis- 
covery, looked  at  the  same  Bible,  and  even  read 
the  same  passages,  but  saw  very  different  things. 
The  Bible  like  nature  lies  open  to  all,  but  not  all 
see  it.  The  law  of  gravitation  was  working 
plainly  before  all  men,  but  only  Newton  saw  it. 
And  similarly  the  law  of  faith  was  plainly  shown 
in  the  Bible,  although  my  eyes  had  failed  to  dis- 
cern it.  The  forces  we  use  in  nature  were  not 
created  by  us,  but  only  discovered.  They  ex- 
isted as  much  before  they  were  discovered  as 
afterwards.  And  no  discoverers  of  Nature's  se- 
crets have  ever,  I  am  sure,  had  greater  delight  in 
their  discoveries,  than  I  have  had  in  my  discovery 
of  the  "Secrets  of  God." 

So  great  was  my  delight  that  I  felt  impelled  to 


The  Secret  of  a  Happy  Life  263 

speak  of  it  to  everybody,  and  to  compel  every 
one  to  listen. 

At  first  my  husband,  who  was  an  earnest 
and  successful  Christian  worker,  felt  somewhat 
frightened  lest  I  might  be  rejoicing  in  some 
heresy  that  would  do  myself  and  others  harm; 
and  he  continually  fell  back  on  the  argument  that 
the  "old  man  "  in  us  could  never  be  entirely  con- 
quered in  this  life,  but  must  always  bring  us  more 
or  less  into  bondage.  One  morning,  when  we 
were  arguing  the  matter,  I  said,  "Well,  impossi- 
ble or  not,  it  is  certainly  in  the  Bible;  and  1  would 
like  to  know  what  thee  thinks  of  this  passage  in 
the  sixth  of  Romans — 'Knowing  this,  that  our 
old  man  is  crucified  with  Him,  that  the  body  of 
sin  might  be  destroyed,  that  henceforth  we 
should  not  serve  sin.'  What  can  this  mean?" 
I  said,  "  but  that  the  body,  that  is,  the  power  of 
sin,  is  really  to  be  conquered,  so  that  we  no 
longer  need  to  serve  sin  ?"  Startled  by  the  new 
light  that  seemed  suddenly  to  shine  out  of  these 
words,  he  exclaimed:  "There  is  no  such  pas- 
sage in  the  Bible."  "  Oh,  yes,  there  is,"  I  replied; 
and,  turning  to  my  Bible,  1  showed  it  to  him. 
It  was  a  passage  with  which,  of  course,  he  had 
been  very  familiar,  but  which  now  appeared  to 
him  with  such  an  absolutely  new  meaning  that 
he  felt  as  if  he  had  never  seen  it  before.  It 
brought  conviction,  however;  and  from  that  time 
he  did  not  rest  until  he  had  discovered  the  truth 
for  himself. 

His  own  account  of  this  discovery,  published 


264       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


in  1868,  was  as  follows.  After  telling  of  the 
lack  he  had  been  feeling  in  his  Christian  life,  he 
says: — 

"1  knew,  however,  that  the  Bible  seemed  to 
contemplate  a  better  life  for  the  Christian  than 
this,  and  for  some  years  the  impression  had  been 
increasing  upon  my  mind  that  there  was  some 
part  of  the  truth  of  God  that  1  had  missed  of 
finding.  ...  1  felt  that  in  the  truth,  as  1  held 
it,  there  was  a  painful  want  of  that  spirit  of  love 
which  is  the  uniting  bond  of  the  Church  of 
Christ,  and  which  the  Scriptures  declare  is  so 
much  more  and  better  than  "all  knowledge" 
and  "all  faith  ";  and  1  often  expressed  my  grow- 
ing conviction  that  there  was  some  truth  yet  to 
break  out  of  God's  word  that  would  fill  our 
hearts  with  a  love  that  could  bear  all  things.  So 
strong  was  this  feeling  that  1  had  arranged  for  a 
meeting  of  some  brethren,  well  versed  in  the 
Scriptures,  to  carefully  examine  together  and  in 
detail  what  part  of  God's  word  we  had  failed  to 
receive  and  to  teach.  Circumstances  delayed 
this  meeting,  but  in  the  meantime,  through  an 
unlooked  for  channel,  I  was  to  receive  the  secret, 
that  was  to  teach  me  the  joy  of  Christian  liberty, 
and  the  power  of  true  service.  That  secret 
was  faith!  Strange!  that  when  I  had  so  con- 
stantly taught  faith  as  the  appointed  channel  for 
the  forgiveness  of  sins,  1  had  failed  to  see  that 
faith  alone  was  also  the  means  of  deliverance 
from  the  inward  power  of  sin.  Not  the  sinner 
only,  but  the  Christian  also,  must  receive  every- 
thing by  faith. 

"I  met  at  this  time  some  Christians  whose  in- 
ward life,  as  they  described  it,  seemed  to  be  very 
different  from  mine.  They  declared  that  practical 
sanctification  was  to  be  obtained,  like  justitka- 


The  Secret  of  a  Happy  Life  265 


tion,  by  simple  faith;  and  that,  like  justification, 
it  was  to  be  realized  in  any  moment  in  which 
our  faith  should  be  able  to  grasp  it;  and  they  de- 
clared further  that  they  themselves  had  experi- 
enced it.  The  subject  was  continually  brought 
to  my  attention,  and  over  and  over  again  proofs 
were  brought  from  the  Word,  to  which  1  pro- 
fessed to  be,  and  verily  thought  I  was,  in  such 
entire  subjection.  But  I  regarded  the  whole 
thing  with  a  deep  feeling  of  distress,  for  it 
seemed  to  me  that  what  they  were  aiming  after 
and  professing  to  have  attained  was  a  perfection 
of  the  flesh,  and  that  1  knew  was  impossible. 
1  scarcely  know  anything  towards  which  1  had 
such  a  deep-rooted  prejudice,  and  1  suffered  many 
hours  of  anxiety  in  thinking  over  the  sad  conse- 
quences of  this  heresy  which  1  saw  creeping  in 
among  us.  So  determined  was  my  opposition; 
that  even  familiar  passages  of  Scripture,  when 
quoted  to  prove  that  sanctification  was  by  faith, 
and  that  it  was  possible  to  walk  worthy  of  the 
Lord  unto  all  pleasing,  assumed  such  unfamiliar 
aspects  that  1  could  scarcely  believe  they  were  in 
the  Bible  at  all. 

"One  morning,  Rom.  6:  6,  was  quoted  to  me 
with  the  remark  that  when  God  said  of  the  be- 
liever that  his  'old  man  is  crucified  with  Christ 
that  the  body  of  sin  might  be  destroyed,  that 
henceforth  we  should  not  serve  sin,'  it  certainly 
must  mean  something,  and  something  too  which 
would  make  it  possible  for  a  believer  no  longer 
to  be  the  slave  of  sin.  1  was  so  astonished  at 
the  force  of  the  words  that  1  said  at  once  and 
emphatically,  '  That  passage  is  not  in  the  Bible,  ' 
although  as  a  fact  there  were  but  few  that 
were  more  familiar.  And  then,  when  forced  to 
acknowledge  that  it  was  there,  1  took  refuge  in 
the  plea  that  it  was  only  judicial — that  is,  true  in 
God's  sight,  but  never  actually  true  in  the  Chris- 


266       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


tian's  experience.  But  from  that  moment  I  be- 
gan to  wonder  whether  there  might  not  be  after 
all  some  truth  in  what  they  were  teaching;  and 
slowly  1  discovered  that  1  had  misapprehended 
their  meaning.  It  was  not  a  perfection  in  the 
flesh  that  they  were  talking  of,  but  a  death  of  the 
flesh,  and  a  life  hid  in  Christ, — a  life  of  abiding 
and  walking  in  Him,  and  therefore  a  life  of 
victory  and  triumph,  and  one  well  pleasing  to 
God. 

"  '  But  is  that  all  you  mean  ? '  I  asked  at  one 
time,  when  this  had  been  especially  pressed  upon 
me.  'That  is  nothing  new.  I  have  always  known 
it.' 

"  *  But  have  you  lived  it  ? '  was  the  question 
asked. 

"  '  Yes,'  I  replied,  '  I  have  often  lived  so.  Very 
often  1  have  given  myself  up  entirely  into  the  care 
of  the  Lord,  and  have  realized  that  I  was  dead, 
and  that  He  alone  lived  in  me.' 

"  '  You  have  realized  this  as  an  occasional  ex- 
perience,' was  the  answer  to  this,  '  but  have 
you  realized  it  as  a  life  ?  You  say  you  have  taken 
refuge  in  the  Lord  sometimes,  but  have  you  ever 
taken  up  your  abode  in  Him 

"  1  saw  that  I  had  not.  My  faith  had  been  very 
intermittent  in  this  respect.  In  circumstances  of 
peculiar  difficulty,  or  where  I  had  from  any  cause 
felt  especially  weak  in  myself,  1  had  had  resource 
to  the  Lord  exclusively,  and  had  always  found 
Him  at  such  times  sufficient  for  my  utmost  need. 
But  that  this  occasional  experience  might  be  and 
ought  to  be  the  experience  of  my  whole  life,  I 
had  never  dreamed. 

"'What  would  you  think,'  asked  my  friend, 
'  of  people  who  should  trust  Christ  in  this  inter- 
mittent way  for  the  salvation  of  their  souls; — 
who  should  one  week  realize  their  own  power- 
lessness  to  do  anything  towards  it,  and  should 


The  Secret  of  a  Happy  Life  267 


therefore  trust  it  altogether  and  wholly  to  the 
Lord,  but  should  the  next  week  try  to  do  it  partly 
themselves,  asking  His  help  to  make  up  what 
was  lacking  in  their  own  efforts  ?  Would  not 
such  a  course  seem  to  you  utterly  foolish  and 
inconsistent  ?  And  yet  is  it  not  equally  incon- 
sistent, and  equally  dishonouring  to  the  Lord,  for 
you  to  trust  Him  for  your  daily  living  in  this 
intermittent  way,  sometimes  walking  by  faith, 
and  sometimes  by  your  own  efforts  ?' 

"I  could  not  but  acknowledge  the  truth  of 
this,  and  the  possibilities  and  blessedness  of  a  life 
of  continual  faith  began  to  dawn  upon  me." 

Such  was  my  husband's  account  of  his  dis- 
covery; and  to  my  great  joy  we  were  both  from 
this  time  forward  of  one  accord  in  regard  to  it. 

It  was  not  that  either  he  or  I  considered  our- 
selves to  have  become  sinless,  or  that  we  never 
met  with  any  further  failures.  We  had  simply 
discovered  the  "Secret  of  victory,"  and  knew 
that  we  were  no  longer  the  "slaves  of  sin"  and 
therefore  forced  to  yield  to  its  mastery,  but  that 
we  might,  if  we  would,  be  made  more  than  con- 
querors through  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  But  this 
did  not  mean  that  temptations  ceased  to  come; 
and  when  we  neglected  to  avail  ourselves  of  the 
"Secret"  we  had  discovered,  and,  instead  of 
handing  the  battle  over  to  the  Lord,  took  it  into 
our  own  hands  as  of  old,  failure  inevitably  fol- 
lowed. 

But  we  had  learned  that  it  was  really  a  fact  that 
the  Lord  was  both  able  and  willing  to  deliver  us 
out  of  every  temptation,  if  we  would  but  trust 


268       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


Him  to  do  it;  and  we  saw  that  our  old  idea  that 
we  were  necessarily  the  "servants  of  sin"  was 
contrary  to  the  Scriptures,  and  was  a  libel  on  the 
completeness  of  the  salvation  of  Christ,  who  had 
died  on  purpose  to  deliver  us  from  its  bondage. 
"  For  sin  shall  not  have  dominion  over  you:  for 
you  are  not  under  the  law,  but  under  grace." 
And  we  had  discovered  further  that  faith  and 
faith  only  was  the  road  to  victory,  and  that  effort 
and  wrestling  were  of  no  avail  in  this  battle. 
Our  part,  we  saw,  was  simply  surrender  and 
faith,  and  God's  part  was  to  do  all  the  rest. 

For  a  third  time,  as  I  have  said,  a  skin  was 
peeled  off  the  Bible,  and  on  every  page  we  found 
the  "  secret  of  victory  "  set  forth  in  letters  of  light. 
As  before,  the  old  texts  took  on  a  deeper  and  a 
fuller  meaning.  Take  for  instance  the  passage, 
"For  whatsoever  is  born  of  God  overcometh  the 
world,  and  this  is  the  victory  that  overcometh 
the  world,  even  our  faith.  Who  is  he  that  over- 
cometh the  world  but  he  that  believeth  that  Jesus 
is  the  Son  of  God."  This  had  been  one  of  our 
favourite  passages,  but  we  had  taken  it  to  mean 
only  a  future  overcoming,  when  death  should  be 
swallowed  up  in  victory,  and  we  should  over- 
come the  world  by  leaving  it  behind  us.  Now 
we  saw  that  it  meant  a  present  overcoming  of  the 
world,  by  the  power  of  a  present  faith,  while  still 
living  in  it. 

Or  take  this  passage,  "Behold  the  Lamb  of 
God  that  taketh  away  the  sin  of  the  world." 
This  had  meant  to  us  heretofore  the  taking  away 


The  Secret  of  a  Happy  Life  269 


of  the  future  penalty  of  sin,  but  now  we  saw  that 
it  meant  taking  away  its  present  power,  so  that 
we  need  no  longer  serve  it  or  be  a  bond  slave 
to  it. 

I  might  multiply  innumerable  instances  of  this 
unveiling  of  the  Bible  under  our  new  light,  but 
these  will  suffice.  We  had  made  a  transforming 
discovery,  and  it  filled  our  every  thought. 

It  seemed  to  me  such  an  amazing  and  delight- 
ful thing  that,  as  1  have  said,  1  could  not  keep  it  to 
myself.  Whenever  1  met  any  of  my  friends  my 
first  question  would  be,  "  How  much  time  have 
you  to  spare,  for  I  have  something  splendid  to  tell 
you."  And  I  would  at  once  proceed  to  pour  out 
my  tale  of  the  great  salvation  I  had  discovered. 
To  most  of  my  friends  it  was  as  new  and  de- 
lightful as  it  had  been  to  me,  and  many  of  them 
took  hold  of  it  at  once  as  an  experimental  reality. 
But  one  of  them,  the  friend  who  had  been  the 
means  of  my  awakening  at  sixteen,  and  who  had 
been  my  closest  religious  confidante  ever  since, 
after  listening  to  my  story,  said,  "  But,  Hannah, 
that  is  nothing  new.  1  have  always  known  it." 
"  Then  why,"  I  asked  in  great  indignation,  "  did 
you  never  tell  me  about  it  ?  Here  have  I  been,  as 
you  must  have  known,  struggling  along  all  these 
years  with  my  temptations,  having  a  few  victories 
perhaps,  but  a  far  greater  number  of  defeats,  and 
all  the  while  you  knew  of  a  secret  of  victory  and 
yet  never  told  me.  How  could  you  be  so  un- 
kind ?  "  "  But  of  course  I  thought  you  knew  it," 
she  replied.    "It  is  what  the  Quakers  have  al- 


270       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


ways  taught.  Their  preaching  is  almost  aho- 
gether  about  it.  I  thought  every  Christian  knew 
it."  "Well,"  I  said,  "every  Christian  does  not 
know  it,  and  very  few,  in  fact,  do  know  it.  Most 
Christians  believe  that  they  are  obliged,  owing  to 
the  weakness  of  the  flesh,  to  be  the  '  servants  of 
sin  '  all  their  lives;  and  most  of  them  think  that  in 
order  to  get  any  victory  at  all,  they  have  got  to 
fight  and  wrestle  for  it  themselves;  and  they 
never  see  that  the  Bible  declares  that  victory  is 
given  to  faith  and  to  faith  only.  I  feel  sure,"  1 
added,  "that  nearly  all  Christians  believe,  as  1 
did,  that  they  must  do  all  the  fighting  them- 
selves, but  that,  if  defeat  seems  imminent,  they 
can  then  ask  the  Lord  to  come  to  their  help. 
But  they  do  not  in  the  least  understand  that 
what  they  are  to  do  is  to  hand  the  battle  over  to 
Him  in  the  very  beginning,  while  they  '  stand 
still  and  see  the  salvation  of  the  Lord,'  just  as  the 
children  of  Israel  did  at  the  Red  Sea.  Moses  told 
the  Israelites  then  that  the  Lord  would  fight  for 
them,  and  they  might  hold  their  peace,  and  I 
think  everybody  who  knows  about  it  ought  to 
tell  people  the  same  thing  now.  And,"  I  added 
emphatically,  as  I  bade  my  friend  good-bye,  "  I 
for  one  mean  to  tell  it  wherever  I  can." 

Consequently  no  one,  whether  old  or  young, 
whether  an  advanced  Christian  or  a  young  be- 
ginner, to  whom  I  dared  speak,  failed  to  hear 
the  story,  and,  one  after  another,  nearly  all  my 
friends  accepted  it  and  began  to  live  in  the  power 
of  it. 


The  Secret  of  a  Happy  Life  271 

Among  the  rest  was  my  own  little  daughter, 
who  was  at  this  time  about  seven  or  eight  years 
old.  She  had  begun  to  develop  a  spirit  of  great 
willfulness  which  I  had  found  very  hard  to  con- 
trol. She  herself  recognized  that  it  was  wrong, 
and  tried  to  conquer  it,  but  she  seemed  somehow 
possessed.  One  day  she  came  to  me  with  a 
very  puzzled  air  and  said,  "Mother,  what  is  the 
reason  1  am  so  naughty  ?  I  know  1  am  a  little 
Christian  girl,  and  I  thought  Christians  were  al- 
ways good;  but  though  1  try  as  hard  as  I  can  to 
make  myself  good,  I  just  can't  help  being 
naughty."  I  could  sympathize  with  the  child 
from  my  own  experience,  and  I  said,  "1  expect, 
darling,  that  the  reason  is  just  because  you  do 
try  to  make  yourself  good.  We  never  can  make 
ourselves  good,  let  us  try  as  hard  as  we  may. 
Only  our  Heavenly  Father  can  make  us  good, 
and  we  must  just  trust  Him  to  do  it.  Whenever 
you  feel  tempted  to  be  naughty,  if  you  will  tell 
Him  all  about  it,  and  ask  Him  to  make  you  good, 
and  then  will  trust  Him  to  do  it,  He  will  be  sure 
to  take  all  your  naughty  away."  The  child  re- 
mained silent  for  a  while,  and  then  said  thought- 
fully, "  Oh  1  did  not  know  that.  1  always 
thought  you  had  to  put  your  will  into  it,  and 
just  do  it  yourself."  And  she  walked  thought- 
fully away,  having  evidently  got  hold  of  an 
entirely  new  idea. 

1  very  soon  noticed  a  great  change  in  her;  all 
her  willfulness  seemed  to  have  disappeared,  and 
she  was  as  biddable  and  gentle  as  a  lamb.  I 


272       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


said  nothing,  as  I  did  not  want  to  intrude  roughly 
into  delicate  ground,  but  two  or  three  days  after- 
wards, as  she  was  sitting  on  the  floor  of  her 
nursery  playing  with  her  dolls,  I  heard  her  say- 
ing softly  to  herself,  in  a  tone  of  subdued  exulta- 
tion, "Oh,  I  am  so  glad  Heavenly  Father  is 
making  me  so  good.  It  feels  so  nice  to  be  good." 
Still  1  said  nothing,  but  a  few  nights  later,  when 
I  was  tucking  her  up  in  bed  she  burst  out  with, 
"Oh,  mother,  aren't  you  glad  Heavenly  Father 
is  making  me  so  good.?  He  is  going  to  make 
me  a  great  deal  gooder,  but  aren't  you  glad  He 
has  made  me  as  good  as  He  has  this  far?" 
Then,  as  I  hugged  and  kissed  her,  and  rejoiced 
with  her,  she  added  solemnly,  "Mother,  do  you 
tell  everybody  about  this  ?"  I  replied  that  I  tried 
to,  but  she  was  not  satisfied,  and  said,  "  But, 
mother,  you  must  not  only  try  to,  you  must 
really  do  it  every  time  you  preach,  for  1  expect 
there  are  lots  of  people  like  1  was,  who  want  to 
be  good  and  don't  know  how,  and  you  ought  to 
tell  every  single  person  you  meet."  1  have  al- 
ways taken  this  as  a  sort  of  Divine  call  for  my 
work. 

In  fact,  however,  our  hearts  were  so  full  of 
the  subject  that  we  needed  no  incentive  to  fulfill 
our  little  daughter's  injunction,  and  everybody 
we  knew  did  sooner  or  later  hear  our  story.  As 
a  consequence  a  great  stir  was  created  in  our  own 
circle,  and  1  may  say  all  over  the  Church  in 
America  as  well,  and  even  in  England.  Enquiries 
began  to  come  from  all  quarters  as  to  what  this 


The  Secret  of  a  Happy  Life  273 


new  doctrine,  taught  by  the  Pearsall  Smiths  at 
Millville,  New  Jersey,  could  be;  and  very  soon 
meetings  and  conferences  began  to  be  held  in 
various  places,  many  of  which,  are  still  held  to 
this  day,  and  are  generally  called  "Meetings  for 
the  deepening  of  the  Spiritual  life."  I  shall  hope 
to  give  a  full  account  of  this  movement  else- 
where. 

Suffice  it  to  say  here  that  this  discovery,  which  I 
have  tried  to  set  forth,  was  the  beginning  of  a  great 
revival  in  the  spiritual  life  of  the  Church  every- 
where. It  reached  its  culmination  in  the  meetings 
held  in  1873  and  1874  on  the  Continent,  and  at 
Oxford  and  Brighton,  when  thousands  of  Chris- 
tians came  from  all  quarters  to  hear  the  story;  and 
the  effects  of  which  are  still  felt  in  numberless 
lives.  1  never  go  anywhere  that  I  do  not  meet 
people  who  tell  me  that  their  whole  lives  were 
changed  by  what  they  learned  at  those  meetings. 
It  was  not  that  they  had  found  a  new  religion, 
but  only  that  their  old  religion  had  become  vital 
to  them,  and  the  things  they  had  before  thought 
they  believed,  had  been  made  actual  and  living 
realities.  They  had  called  Christ  their  Saviour, 
but  now  they  had  learned  to  know  that  He  really 
did  save,  and  they  had  trusted  Him  to  do  it,  and 
He  had  not  failed  them. 

There  had  been  nothing  Sectarian  in  the  teach- 
ing, and  there  had  been  no  need  for  any  one  to 
change  their  Creed  or  their  Denomination.  In 
all  Denominations,  even  where  in  other  respects 
they  may  seem  to  hold  widely  diverging  views. 


274       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


there  have  always  been  those  who  have  under- 
stood and  lived  the  life  of  faith,  not  only  among 
the  Methodists,  but  among  the  Quakers  and 
among  the  Catholics  as  well,  and  in  fact  it  is  1 
believe  at  the  bottom  of  the  creeds  of  every 
Church.  All  that  is  needed  therefore  is  for  the 
members  of  each  Church  to  give  up  merely  pro- 
fessing their  beliefs,  and  begin  actually  to  believe 
them;  and,  in  believing  them,  they  will  always 
find  them  to  be  true. 

it  is  a  blessed  fact  about  the  life  of  faith  that, 
no  matter  what  the  Creed  or  what  the  Denomi- 
nation, it  fits  into  all,  and  the  story  is  everywhere 
the  same. 


XXIX 


THE  LIFE  OF  FAITH  QUAKER  DOCTRINE 


MONG  those  who  were  especially  inter- 


ested in  these  new  discoveries  were  the 


X  jLFriends.  As  I  said  in  my  last  chapter, 
one  of  their  members,  on  hearing  what  I  had  to 
tell,  had  expressed  surprise  at  its  being  new 
to  me,  as  it  was,  she  declared,  what  the  Quakers 
had  always  taught  This  seemed  to  throw  a 
light  upon  Quakerism  that  I  had  never  dreamed 
of.  My  mother  also  said  to  me  one  day,  after  I 
had  been  speaking  on  the  subject,  "But,  Han- 
nah, why  does  thee  call  this  doctrine  new  ? 
Thee  is  only  preaching  what  all  the  old  Friends 
have  always  preached."  "Yes,"  I  answered, 
"  1  begin  to  see  that  this  is  the  case.  But  they 
have  never  preached  it  in  such  a  way  that 
ordinary  people  could  know  what  they  were 
talking  about.  It  seems  to  me  that  nobody,  who 
did  not  know  it  already,  could  possibly  get  hold 
of  it  from  their  preaching.  Certainly  I  never 
did,  although  1  have  been  listening  to  their 
preaching  all  my  life.  And  for  my  part,"  I 
added,  "  I  am  determined  to  say  it  out  so  plain 
that  no  one  can  help  understanding  it." 

But  1  came  to  the  conclusion  that  my  mother 
and  my  friend  were  right.    It  was  true  Quaker 


275 


276       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


doctrine  that  we  had  discovered.  For  I  found, 
when,  with  my  understanding  enlightened  on 
the  subject,  1  reread  their  writings  and  listened 
afresh  to  their  preaching,  that  the  secret  of  true 
Quakerism  was  in  reality  this  "life  hid  with 
Christ  in  God;"  and  their  fundamental  teaching 
was  that  Christ  was  a  present  and  complete  Sav- 
iour, and  that  He  did,  as  He  had  promised,  keep 
the  feet  of  His  saints,  and  make  them  more  than 
conquerors  through  His  strength.  1  saw  that 
a  life  of  absolute  consecration,  and  entire  obedi- 
ence, and  simple  trust,  was  the  life  to  which 
they  had  always  been  exhorting  us,  and  that 
I  had  not  understood  them  because  1  had  never 
realized  that  they  were  preaching  about  the 
building  up  of  the  Christian  life,  while  1  was 
seeking  to  know  what  were  the  foundations 
of  that  life.  Alexander  Knox  says  there  are 
foundation  truths  and  superstructure  truths  in 
the  religion  of  Christ,  and  that  both  are  needed 
for  a  complete  whole.  They  are  necessarily 
different,  as  different  as  the  foundations  of  a 
building  are  different  from  the  superstructure 
that  is  reared  upon  them.  But  it  is  a  difference 
of  harmony  and  not  of  discord.  Each  one  is 
necessary  to  the  other,  if  we  would  have  com- 
pleteness. 

Foundation  truths  deal  with  the  beginnings 
of  things,  superstructure  truths  deal  with  their 
development.  The  first  show  the  entrance  to 
the  divine  life,  the  last  teach  how  to  live  and 
walk  after  we  are  in  that  life.    Without  the 


The  Life  of  Faith  Quaker  Doctrine  277 


superstructure  truths,  the  foundations  remain 
bare  and  crude;  without  the  foundation  truths, 
the  superstructure  will  be  tottering  and  unsafe. 

The  Friends  were  in  the  beginning  a  society 
for  building  up  the  superstructure.  Their  mes- 
sage was  a  message  to  Christians,  and  they 
preached  chiefly  to  such.  A  study  of  their  early 
history  reveals  the  fact  that  they  themselves 
were  nearly  all  religious  men  and  women,  who 
had  been  earnest  members  of  the  various  denomi- 
nations of  their  day,  but  who  had  failed  to  find 
in  any  of  them  that  which  fully  satisfied  their 
souls. 

George  Fox  says  of  them : — 

"It  is  now  about  seven  years  since  the  Lord 
raised  us  up  in  the  North  of  England,  and  opened 
our  mouths  in  this  His  Spirit;  and  what  we 
were  before  in  our  religion,  profession  and 
practices  is  well  known  to  that  part  of  the  coun- 
try; that  generally  we  were  men  of  the  strictest 
sect,  and  of  the  greatest  zeal  in  the  performance 
of  outward  righteousness,  and  went  through  and 
tried  all  sorts  of  teachers,  and  ran  from  mountain 
to  mountain,  and  from  man  to  man,  and  from 
one  form  to  another. 

"  .  .  .  And  such  were  we  (to  say  no  more 
of  us)  that  sought  the  Lord,  and  desired  the 
knowledge  of  His  ways  more  than  anything 
beside." 

Isaac  Pennington  also  says: — 

"We  are  a  people  of  God's  gathering.  We 
wanted  the  presence  and  power  of  His  Spirit,  to 
be  inwardly  manifested  in  our  spirits.  We  had 
(as  1  may  say)  what  we  could  gather  from  the 


278       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


letter,  and  endeavoured  to  practice  what  we 
could  read  in  the  letter,  but  we  wanted  the 
'power  from  on  high,'  we  wanted  life,  we 
wanted  the  presence  and  fellowship  of  our  Be- 
loved, we  wanted  the  knowledge  of  the  heavenly 
Seed  and  Kingdom,  and  an  entrance  into  it,  and 
the  holy  dominion  and  reign  of  the  Lord  of  Life 
over  the  flesh,  over  sin,  and  over  death  in  us. 

" .  .  .  And  who  can  utter  what  the  glory 
of  the  Light  was  in  its  shining  and  breaking 
forth  in  our  hearts!  How  welcome  to  our  weary 
souls,  how  demonstrative  and  satisfactory  to  our 
hearts!  Oh  the  joy  of  that  day  (surely  it  can 
never  be  forgotten  by  us),  wherein  we  sensibly 
felt  the  pouring  down  of  the  Spirit  of  Life  upon 
us,  and  our  hearts  gathered  into  the  bosom  of 
eternal  rest,  and  our  souls  and  bodies  sanctified 
and  set  apart  for  the  Lord  and  His  service." 

My  dear  father,  who  was  a  genuine  Quaker,  as 
well  as  a  most  delightful  one,  realized  in  his  own 
experience  this  early  Quaker  teaching,  and  knew 
something  of  this  Quaker  deliverance.  We  had 
always  known  that  he  lived  a  life  of  unfailing 
trust  and  simple  obedience,  but  we  had  not, 
in  our  very  evangelical  days,  found  him  par- 
ticularly clear  in  the  doctrines  of  "justification  by 
faith  "  or  the  "  judicial  standing  of  the  believer;  " 
and  we  often  laughingly  told  him  that,  though 
we  knew  he  was  good,  yet  we  considered  him 
most  "unsound."  But  now  that  we  had  dis- 
covered the  secret  of  the  life  of  faith,  we  felt 
sure  that  this  must  be  the  secret  of  our  father's 
life,  and  at  the  earliest  opportunity  1  told  him  of 
our  new  discovery,  and  said,  "Now,  father,  is 


The  Life  of  Faith  Quaker  Doctrine  279 

not  this  the  secret  of  thy  life,  and  the  source 
of  thy  strength  ?  Is  not  this  the  way  thee  has 
always  lived?"  I  shall  never  forget  his  reply. 
"  Why  of  course  it  is,  daughter,"  he  said  with  a 
joyous  ring  of  triumph  in  his  voice;  "  1  know  of 
no  other  way  to  live.  And  I  do  know,"  he 
added  reverently,  "  what  it  is,  when  the  enemy 
comes  in  like  a  flood,  for  the  Lord  to  lift  up  His 
standard  against  him,  and  drive  him  away.  ' 

It  seems  very  plain  to  me  therefore  that  Friends 
were  primarily  meant  to  be  superstructure  work- 
ers, and  in  my  day  they  certainly  preached  very 
little  else.  It  was  most  valuable  preaching  for 
those  who  were  already  in  the  kingdom,  but  it 
failed  to  tell  seeking  souls  how  to  get  in.  It  left 
the  foundation  facts  of  the  relationship  between 
the  soul  and  God  uncertain,  and  put  a  trembling 
hope  in  the  place  of  assured  possession.  It  urged 
holiness  of  life,  but  failed  to  tell  the  secret  by 
which  this  holiness  was  to  be  attained.  It  em- 
phasized the  word  "ought"  but  overlooked  the 
word  "how."  And  hungry  souls,  reaching  out 
after  the  beautiful  ideal  of  a  holy  life  which  was 
set  before  them,  were  left  without  any  definite 
teaching  of  how  to  reach  it.  The  one  foundation 
need  of  "How"  remained  unanswered.  I  re- 
member how  eagerly,  through  the  early  days  of 
my  awakening,  I  watched  and  waited  to  be  told 
"  How,"  but  was  continually  disappointed;  and  I 
do  not  think,  when  I  came  to  preach  myself,  that 
any  commendation  ever  pleased  me  quite  so 
much,  as  when  a  friend  said  to  me  once,  "Do 


28o       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


you  know,  Hannah,  that  we  always  call  you 
'  The  woman  who  tells  us  "  How."  '  " 

1  remember  well  once  in  my  perplexity  asking 
one  of  our  principal  Quaker  preachers  why  they 
always  preached  to  one  another,  and  did  not 
sometimes  preach  to  us  poor  sinners.  "You 
might,"  I  said,  "make  all  the  Christians  sit  in 
one  part  of  the  Meeting  House,  and  all  the  sin- 
ners in  another  part,  and  then  you  could  turn  to 
one  set  and  say:  '  Now  I  am  preaching  to  you,' 
or  turn  to  the  other  set  and  say,  '  Now  I  am 
preaching  to  you.'"  His  reply  1  shall  never  for- 
get. He  said,  "  But  that  would  never  do,  my 
dear  child,  because  there  would  be  a  continual 
running  backwards  and  forwards  from  one  part 
to  another;  for  at  one  moment  some  of  those  on 
the  Christians'  benches  would  have  bad  thoughts, 
and  would  have  to  go  over  to  the  sinners'  part, 
and  the  next  moment  they  would  have  good 
thoughts,  and  would  have  to  go  back  to  the  good 
benches."  No  wonder  that,  after  this  reply,  I 
felt  in  a  worse  confusion  than  ever. 

But  now  at  last  1  had  got  the  clue,  and  the  true 
inner  meaning  of  Quakerism  dawned  upon  me 
more  and  more  fully  day  by  day.  It  was  the 
"  way  of  holiness"  in  which  they  were  seeking 
to  walk.  They  preached  a  deliverance  from  sin, 
a  victory  over  the  cares  and  worries  of  life,  a 
peace  that  passes  all  understanding,  a  continual 
being  made  "more  than  conquerors"  through 
Christ.  They  were  in  short  "  Higher  Life  "  peo- 
ple, and  at  last  I  understood  them;  and  now  the 


The  Life  of  Faith  Quaker  Doctrine  281 


old  preaching,  which  once  had  been  so  confus- 
ing, became  marrow  and  fatness  to  my  soul. 
•The  preaching  had  not  changed,  but  I  had 
changed.  I  had  discovered  the  missing  link,  and 
had  reached  that  stage  in  my  soul's  experience  to 
which  such  preaching  ministered. 

But  all  this  has  given  me  a  conviction  that 
Quakerism  was  meant  to  be  what  might  be 
called  an  "  Interior  Life  "  Society;  not  one  to  con- 
vert sinners  so  much,  as  one  to  lead  those  who 
are  already  converted  into  a  closer  walk  with 
God,  and  into  a  life  of  abiding  trust  in  Him.  I 
cannot  help  feeling  that  in  these  latter  days  they 
have  somewhat  lost  sight  of  their  especial  mis- 
sion, in  their  desire  to  do  foundation  work  rather 
than  superstructure  work.  Their  traditions  and 
their  machinery,  while  fitted  for  the  last,  seem  to 
me  hardly  so  well  fitted  for  the  first,  and  the  re- 
sult is  not  as  satisfactory  as  in  denominations 
where  the  foundation  work  has  always  been  one 
of  the  chief  aims.  A  very  wise  thinker  among 
them  said  to  me  lately  that  in  his  opinion  Friends 
were  meant  to  be  a  strong  mystic  society,  but  he 
feared  they  were  degenerating  into  a  weak  evan- 
gelical one;  and  I  could  not  but  feel  there  was 
too  much  truth  in  his  words.  Were  the  Quakers 
but  prepared  to  sound  forth  again,  in  the  trumpet 
tones  of  old,  that  glorious  message  of  a  present 
full  and  complete  salvation  in  Christ,  here  and 
now,  with  which  they  were  first  entrusted,  no 
one  can  tell  what  a  blessing  it  would  confer  upon 
thousands  of  needy  and  hungry  souls. 


282       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


"  I  have  good  news  to  bring  you,"  said  one  of 
their  preachers;  "not  that  the  day  of  your  re- 
demption draws  nigli,  but  that  it  is  already  come; 
and  there  are  a  great  many  blessing  and  glorify- 
ing the  name  of  God  that  they  are  redeemed  and 
delivered  from  the  bondage  of  corruption,  and 
have  more  joy  and  delight  in  the  service  of  God 
than  ever  they  had  in  the  service  of  this  world. 
.  .  .  Oh,  the  conquering  faith,  the  overcom- 
ing life  and  power  of  the  spirit.  We  cannot  but 
speak  of  these  things,  and  cry  up  the  perfect  gift 
and  power  of  Him  who  is  not  only  able  to  per- 
fect His  work  in  the  heart,  but  delights  to  do  so; 
and  even  to  tread  down  Satan  under  the  feet  of 
those  who  trust  Him." 

However  vague  and  indefinite  this  preaching 
had  become  in  my  day,  the  early  Quakers  gave 
no  uncertain  sound;  and  it  is  not  to  be  wondered 
at  that  the  truths  they  declared  found  such  a 
wide-spread  entrance  into  people's  hearts.  Did 
the  Quakers  of  the  present  day  declare  the  same 
truths  with  the  same  definiteness  and  clearness,  1 
believe  thousands  would  flock  to  their  standard. 
For  the  souls  of  God's  children  are  as  hungry 
now  as  they  were  then,  to  know  the  fullness  of 
the  salvation  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 


XXX 


HOLINESS  CAMP  MEETINGS 

AS  may  be  imagined,  we  took  every  pos- 
sible opportunity  of  learning  all  we  could 
of  the  new  truths  we  had  discovered;  and 
I  must  confess  that,  although  we  found,  as  I  have 
said,  that  the  Friends  did  actually  teach  it,  yet  it 
was  among  the  Methodists  we  received  the  clear- 
est light.  The  Methodists  were  very  definite 
about  it.  They  taught  definitely  that  there  were 
two  experiences  in  the  Christian  life,  the  first 
being  justification,  and  the  second  sanctification, 
and  they  urged  Christians  not  to  be  satisfied  with 
justification  (/.  e.,  forgiveness)  merely,  but  also  to 
seek  sanctification  or  the  " second  blessing,"  as 
they  called  it,  as  well.  1  should  not  myself  ex- 
press the  truth  in  this  fashion  now,  but  at  that 
time  I  must  acknowledge  it  was  most  helpful. 

It  was  not,  however,  every  Methodist  who  took 
this  ground,  as  many  thought  it  was  too  extreme. 
Those  who  did  were  called  "Holiness  Metho- 
dists," and  it  was  from  them  we  received  the 
most  help.  They  held  "Holiness  Meetings"  for 
the  express  purpose  of  considering  the  subject, 
and  it  was  our  delight  to  attend  these  Meetings 
whenever  we  could.  Especially  did  we  enjoy 
their  "Holiness  Camp  Meetings,"  which  were 
283 


284       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


held  in  the  summer  time  in  lonely  forests  or  at 
seaside  places.  They  were  called  "  Meetings  for 
the  promotion  of  holiness,"  and  were  really  great 
open  air  Conferences  of  Christians  of  all  denomi- 
nations, from  all  parts  of  the  country,  who  were 
interested  in  the  subject,  and  who  would  assem- 
ble at  these  Camp  Meetings,  living  in  tents  under 
the  trees,  and  spending  a  week  or  ten  days  in 
waiting  upon  God,  and  conferring  together  on 
the  deep  things  of  the  Kingdom. 

No  words  can  express  the  wonderful  power, 
and  solemnity,  and  yet  overwhelming  joyfulness, 
of  these  meetings.  We  were  there  living  in 
tents,  entirely  separated  from  all  our  usual  occu- 
pations and  cares,  with  nothing  to  do  but  to  give 
ourselves  up  to  the  spiritual  influences  around  us, 
and  to  open  our  hearts  to  what  we  believed  to  be 
the  teachings  of  the  Holy  Spirit.  Such  a  com- 
pany of  earnest  Christians,  all  set  on  coming  into 
a  closer  communion  with  God,  could  not  fail  to 
create  a  spiritual  atmosphere  of  great  intensity; 
and  the  thrilling  experiences  of  spiritual  joy  that 
were  told  in  every  meeting,  with  the  songs  of 
praise  resounding  through  the  forest,  and  the 
happy  faces  of  every  one  we  met,  were  all  some- 
thing so  out  of  the  ordinary  and  so  entrancing, 
that  it  often  seemed  almost  as  if  we  were  on  the 
very  threshold  of  Heaven.  I  cannot  help  pitying 
every  Christian  who  has  known  nothing  of  such 
seasons  of  pure  delight.  They  were  a  sort  of 
culmination  of  the  grand  spiritual  romance  which 
my  religion  has  always  been  to  me,  and  I  count 


Holiness  Camp  Meetings  285 


them  among  the  most  entrancing  times  of  my 
life.  To  this  day  the  sight  of  a  camp  chair,  or  of 
a  tent  under  the  trees,  always  brings  back  to  me 
something  of  the  old  sense  of  supreme  happiness 
that  used  to  fill  every  hour  of  those  delicious 
Camp  Meetings. 

A  friend  of  ours  who  knew  nothing  of  the  es- 
pecial object  of  the  Meetings,  having  heard  that 
we  were  attending  one  of  them,  came  unexpect- 
edly to  see  what  it  was  like.  He  arrived  early  in 
the  morning,  and  on  the  way  to  our  tent 
met  the  people  returning  from  the  early  Prayer 
Meeting.  He  was  profoundly  impressed  with 
their  looks  of  peace  and  joy,  and  he  said  to 
us,  "What  is  the  matter  with  all  these  people, 
that  their  faces  shine  so  Nearly  everybody  I 
have  seen  on  this  Camp  ground  seems  to  have  a 
shining  face;  but  I  met  a  few  whose  faces  did 
not  shine,  and  I  want  to  know  what  is  the  differ- 
ence." We  told  him  as  well  as  we  could,  that 
the  "shining  faces  "were  an  index  of  hearts  at 
rest  in  the  Lord,  while  those  whose  faces  did  not 
shine  had  not  yet  learned  the  blessed  secret.  He 
listened  to  us  with  the  deepest  interest,  and,  when 
we  had  done,  he  said  with  conviction,  "Well  I 
am  determined  that  1  too  will  get  a  'shining 
face,'  and  1  will  stay  on  this  Camp  ground  until 
I  do."  And  sure  enough,  in  a  few  days  his  face 
too  was  shining  with  the  joys  of  God's  salva- 
tion. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  first  time  I  was  present 
at  one  of  these  Camp  Meetings,  and  the  first 


286       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


Prayer  Meeting  I  attended.  It  was  an  early  morn- 
ing meeting  in  a  tent.  I  knew  nothing  of  Meth- 
odist Meetings,  having  never  attended  any  except 
those  little  ones  at  Millville,  and  had  no  concep- 
tion of  the  emotional  atmosphere  into  which  1 
had  come.  1  found  when  1  got  into  the  meeting 
that  I  had  forgotten  my  handkerchief,  but  having 
never  in  my  life  shed  any  tears  in  a  meeting,  I 
was  not  troubled.  But  in  this  meeting  the  foun- 
tains of  my  being  seemed  to  be  broken  up,  and 
floods  of  delicious  tears  poured  from  my  eyes.  I 
was  reduced  to  great  straits,  and  was  obliged  sur- 
reptitiously to  lift  up  my  dress  and  use  my  white 
under-skirt  to  dry  my  tears.  I  have  never  since 
been  to  any  meeting  without  at  least  two  hand- 
kerchiefs safely  tucked  away  in  my  pocket,  al- 
though I  believe  1  have  never  since  been  so  over- 
whelmed with  emotion  as  at  that  time.  It  was 
my  first  introduction  to  the  entrancing  joys  of 
spiritual  emotion,  and  I  revelled  in  it. 

As  I  left  the  tent  where  the  meeting  had  been 
held,  a  Methodist  "Holiness  Sister,"  seeing  my 
emotion,  put  her  arm  around  me,  and  told  me  of 
her  own  experience  in  sanctification,  and  took 
me  in  hand  to  help  me.  Guided  by  her,  I  soon 
found  myself  in  the  way  of  getting  the  full  bene- 
fit of  all  the  exercises  of  the  meetings.  I  found 
that  they  talked  a  great  deal  about  what  they 
called  the  "blessing  of  sanctification,"  and  at 
every  meeting  we  were  urged  to  come  forward  to 
what  they  called  the  "altar"  (which  was  really  a 
bench  set  apart  for  the  purpose)  to  seek  for  this 


Holiness  Camp  Meetings  287 


"  blessing."  Just  what  the  "  blessing  "  was  I  did 
not  understand,  but  it  seemed  to  be  something  very 
tangible,  which  resulted  from  entire  consecration 
and  simple  faith,  and  which  made  people  raptur- 
ously happy.  My  "Holiness  Sister"  soon  had 
me  going  forward  to  the  "altar"  to  obtain  this 
"blessing."  I  was  determined  to  get  whatever 
there  was  to  be  had,  and  I  was  more  and  more 
fired  with  enthusiasm  by  the  thrilling  testimonies 
I  continually  heard  on  every  hand  from  those 
who  had  received  the  "  blessing,"  so  that  I  was 
nothing  loth  to  embrace  every  opportunity  for 
going  to  the  "  altar "  to  seek  it.  In  fact  I  enjoyed 
doing  so  immensely,  for  it  seemed  somehow  to 
bring  me  to  the  delicious  verge  of  unknown 
spiritual  possibilities,  that  might  at  any  moment 
reveal  themselves. 

Apart,  however,  from  this  treading  as  it  were, 
on  the  threshold,  no  especial  "blessing"  ever 
came  to  me  from  these  visits  to  the  "altar."  I 
am  not  of  an  emotional  nature,  and  none  of  the 
overpowering  emotions  I  heard  described,  as 
constituting  the  "blessing,"  ever  fell  to  my  por- 
tion. But  the  grand  truth  that  was  taught  at 
these  Meetings,  that  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  was  a 
Saviour  from  the  power  of  sin  as  well  as  a 
Saviour  from  the  guilt  of  sin,  became  more  and 
more  real  and  effective  to  me;  but  of  any  bless- 
ing, as  a  blessing,  apart  from  the  truth,  I  realized 
nothing.  A  knowledge  of  the  truth  was  all  the 
blessing  I  ever  received;  and  although  at  first  I 
was  somewhat  disappointed,  I  came  in  time  to 


288       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


see  that  a  knowledge  of  the  truth  was  all  the 
"blessing"  I  needed.  And  1  was  gradually  con- 
vinced that  a  large  part  of  what  was  called  "the 
blessing"  was  simply  the  emotional  response  of 
emotional  natures  to  the  discovery  of  a  magnifi- 
cent truth.  To  me  it  came  with  intellectual  con- 
viction and  delight,  to  more  emotional  natures  it 
came,  with  emotional  conviction  and  delight,  but 
in  both  cases  the  truth  was  the  same,  and  it  was 
■"V  the  truth,  not  the  emotion,  that  set  the  soul  free. 
My  husband,  however,  being  of  a  more  emo- 
tional nature  than  myself,  did,  at  one  of  these 
Camp  Meetings,  receive  the  "  blessing"  in  a  true 
Methodist  fashion.  He  came  home  full  of  a 
divine  glow  that  seemed  to  affect  everybody  he 
met.  He  could  not  speak  of  the  Camp  Meeting 
without  bringing  tears  to  all  our  eyes,  and  it  was 
very  evident  that  he  had  gone  through  there  a 
remarkable  experience  in  his  spiritual  life.  He 
said  they  had  had  one  day  a  special  meeting  to 
pray  for  the  "Baptism  of  the  Spirit,"  and  that 
after  the  meeting  he  had  gone  alone  into  a  retired 
spot  in  the  woods,  to  continue  the  prayer  by 
himself.  Suddenly,  from  head  to  foot  he  had 
been  shaken  with  what  seemed  like  a  magnetic 
thrill  of  heavenly  delight,  and  floods  of  glory 
seemed  to  pour  through  him,  soul  and  body, 
with  the  inward  assurance  that  this  was  the 
longed-for  Baptism  of  the  Holy  Spirit.  The 
whole  world  seemed  transformed  to  him,  every 
leaf  and  blade  of  grass  quivered  with  exquisite 
colour,  and  heaven  seemed  to  open  out  before 


Holiness  Camp  Meetings  289 


him  as  a  present  blissful  possession.  Everybody 
looked  beautiful  to  him,  for  he  seemed  to  see  the 
Divine  Spirit  within  each  one,  without  regard  to 
their  outward  seemings.  This  ecstasy  lasted  for 
several  weeks,  and  was  the  beginning  of  a  won- 
derful career  of  spiritual  power  and  blessing. 

I  confess  I  was  rather  jealous  that  I  did  not  re- 
ceive a  like  "blessing,"  for  I  felt  that  1  needed  it 
quite  as  much  as  he  did,  and  1  renewed  my  efforts 
to  obtain  it.  But  it  was  all  in  vain;  I  never 
seemed  to  get  out  of  the  region  of  conviction 
into  the  region  of  emotion,  and  1  found  myself 
compelled  to  take  all  my  experiences  intellectu- 
ally, and  not  emotionally.  I  became  convinced 
at  last  that  the  reason  of  this  difference  between 
my  experience  and  that  of  some  others  was  not 
that  they  were  peculiarly  favoured  by  God  above 
me,  but  that  their  emotional  natures  received  with 
these  floods  of  emotional  delight,  the  same  truths 
that  I  received  calmly,  and  with  intellectual  de- 
light; the  difference  being,  not  in  the  experiences, 
but  in  the  different  natures  of  the  recipients  of 
that  experience. 

I  have  many  times  since  noticed  this  differ- 
ence in  people's  experiences;  and  I  have  also  no- 
ticed that,  very  often  the  emotional  experiences 
have  not  been  as  solid  and  permanent  as  the 
more  intellectual  ones.  In  the  very  nature  of 
things  emotions  are  more  or  less  variable,  while 
convictions,  where  they  are  really  convictions, 
and  are  not  purely  notions  or  ideas,  are  perma- 
nent.   Once  convince  a  man  that  two  and  two 


290       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


make  four,  and  no  amount  of  dyspepsia  or  east 
wind  can  change  his  conviction;  while  every- 
thing that  is  only  a  matter  of  feeling,  and  not  of 
conviction,  is  at  the  mercy  of  these  and  a  thou- 
sand other  untoward  influences.  I  learned  in  time 
therefore  not  to  seek  emotions,  but  to  seek  only 
^  for  convictions,  and  1  found  to  my  surprise  and 
delight  that  my  convictions  brought  me  a  far 
more  stable  and  permanent  joy  than  many  of  my 
more  emotional  friends  seemed  to  experience. 
In  the  time  of  stress,  with  many  of  them,  their 
emotions  flagged,  and  even  often  vanished,  and 
they  had  hard  fights  to  prevent  utter  failure  and 
despair,  and  some  of  them  have  been  thankful  at 
last  to  struggle  back  to  the  stable  ground  of  con- 
viction, which  in  their  emotional  days  had  seemed 
so  barren  and  comfortless. 

All  this  however  took  me  many  years  in  learn- 
ing. But  meanwhile  the  joy  and  power  of  the 
glorious  secret  we  had  discovered  grew  every 
year  more  and  more  practical;  and  more  and 
more  my  soul  learned  to  rest  in  absolute  confi- 
dence on  the  keeping  and  saving  power  of  the 
Lord.  1  must  repeat  what  I  have  said  elsewhere, 
that  not  for  a  moment  do  1  mean  that  temptation 
ceased  its  attacks,  or  that  we  had  reached  what  is 
sometimes  called  "  sinless  perfection."  Tempta- 
tions continued  to  arise,  and  sometimes  failures 
befell.  But  we  had  discovered  a  "way  to  es- 
cape," and  had  learned  that  this  way  was  the 
way  of  faith.  We  had  found  out  that  Christ 
was  a  Deliverer,  not  only  from  the  future  punish- 


Holiness  Camp  Meetings  291 


ment  for  sin,  but  from  the  present  power  of  sin, 
and  we  realized  that  we  need  no  longer  be  the 
"  slaves  of  sin."  And  just  so  far  as  we  laid  hold 
by  faith  of  this  deliverance,  just  so  far  were  we 
delivered.  We  had  not  picked  up  holiness  and 
put  it  into  our  pockets  as  a  permanent  and 
inalienable  possession;  but  we  had  discovered 
the  "high  way  "  of  holiness,  and  had  learned  the 
secret  of  walking  therein.  When  we  walked 
there,  we  had  victory,  when  we  tried  other  path- 
ways, we  found  failure.  It  was  simply  this,  thai 
at  last,  after  many  years  of  "  wilderness  wander- 
ing," we  had  entered  into  the  "promised  land  "  and 
had  found  it  true  as  was  said  to  Israel  of  old  that 
"every  place  the  sole  of  your  foot  shall  tread 
upon  that  have  1  given  you."  The  whole  land 
was  ours,  and  it  only  needed  for  us  to  "go  up 
and  possess  it." 

We  had  discovered  that  the  Bible  stated  a  fact 
when  it  said,  "And  God  is  able  to  make  all  grace 
abound  towards  you;  that  ye,  always  having  all 
sufficiency  in  all  things,  may  abound  to  every 
good  work."  And  we  had  proved  in  actual  ex- 
perience that  God  really  was  able,  if  only  we  were 
willing. 

Christ  had  been  revealed  to  us,  not  as  our 
future  Saviour  only,  but  as  our  present  and  com- 
plete Saviour  now  and  here,  able  to  keep  us  from 
falling,  and  to  deliver  us  out  of  the  hands  of  all 
our  enemies. 

For  myself  I  had  now  entered  upon  a  region  of 
romance  before  which  the  glory  of  all  other 


The  Unselfishness  of  God 


romances  paled  into  insignificance.  It  was  like 
an  exploration  of  the  very  courts  of  heaven  itself. 
Every  day  was  a  fresh  revelation.  Words  fail 
when  I  try  to  describe  it.  I  often  in  my  heart 
called  it  the  "  bird  life,"  for  I  felt  like  a  bird 
spreading  its  wings  in  a  country  all  sunshine  and 
greenness,  and  soaring  upwards  into  the  blue  of 
an  unfathomable  sky.  In  the  past,  I  had  been  a 
caged  bird,  happy  in  its  cage  because  it  knew 
nothing  of  the  uncaged  life  outside.  But  now 
all  barriers  seemed  removed,  and  my  soul  was 
set  free  to  comprehend  with  all  saints  what  is 
the  breadth,  and  length,  and  depth,  and  height; 
and  to  know  the  love  of  Christ  which  passeth 
knowledge." 

I  thought,  when  I  discovered  the  restitution  of 
all  things,  that  I  had  reached  this  comprehension, 
but  I  saw  now  wider  breadths,  and  longer  lengths, 
and  deeper  depths,  and  higher  heights,  than  I  had 
even  conceived  of  then,  and  the  love  of  Christ 
that  seemed  then  to  pass  knowledge,  became 
now  an  unfathomable  abyss  of  delight. 

I  had  found  that  God,  just  God  alone,  without 
anything  else,  was  enough.  Even  the  comfort 
of  His  promises  paled  before  the  comfort  of 
Himself.  What  difference  did  it  make  if  I  could 
not  find  a  promise  to  fit  my  case  ?  I  had  found 
the  Promiser,  and  He  was  infinitely  more  than  all 
His  promises. 

I  remember  well  how,  when  I  was  a  child  and 
found  myself  in  any  trouble  or  perplexity,  the 
coming  in  of  my  father  or  my  mother  upon  the 


Holiness  Camp  Meetings  293 


scene  would  always  bring  me  immediate  relief. 
The  moment  I  heard  the  voice  of  one  of  them 
calling  my  name,  that  very  moment  every  bur- 
den dropped  off  and  every  fear  vanished.  I  had 
got  my  father  or  my  mother,  and  what  more 
could  1  need.  It  was  their  simple  presence  that 
did  it.  They  did  not  need  to  stand  up  and  make 
a  string  of  promises  for  my  relief,  nor  detail  to 
me  the  plans  of  deliverance.  The  mere  fact  of 
their  presence  was  all  the  assurance  I  required 
that  everything  now  would  be  all  right  for  me, — 
must  in  fact  be  all  right,  because  they  were  my 
parents,  and  I  was  their  child.  And  how  much 
more  true  must  all  this  be  in  regard  to  our 
Heavenly  Father,  who  has  all  wisdom  and  all 
power,  and  whose  very  name  is  the  God  of  Love. 
His  presence  is  literally  and  truly  all  we  need  for 
everything.  It  would  be  enough  for  us,  even  if  we 
had  not  a  single  promise  nor  a  single  revelation 
of  His  plans.  How  often  in  the  Bible  He  has 
settled  all  the  questions  and  fears  of  His  people 
by  the  simple  announcement,  "  I  will  be  with 
thee."  Who  can  doubt  that  in  that  announce- 
ment He  meant  to  say  that  all  His  wisdom,  and 
all  His  love,  and  all  His  omnipotent  power, 
would  therefore  of  course  be  engaged  on  their 
side  ? 

1  was  married  very  young,  and  knew  but  little 
of  housekeeping,  and  would  naturally  often  find 
myself  in  bothers  and  snarls  over  my  household 
duties,  and  not  know  what  to  do.  And  then 
sometimes,  in  the  midst,  1  would  hear  the  front 


294       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


door  bell  ring,  and  my  mother's  voice  would 
ask,  "Is  Hannah  at  home?"  And  I  would  ex- 
claim, with  a  sigh  of  infinite  relief,  "Oh,  there  is 
mother,"  and  all  my  troubles  would  vanish  as 
though  they  had  never  been.  My  mother  was 
there,  and  would  manage  it  all.  And  over  and 
over  again  in  my  spiritual  life  the  words,  "  Oh, 
there  is  God,"  have  brought  me  a  similar  but  far 
more  blessed  deliverance.  With  God  present 
what  can  there  be  to  fear  ?  Since  He  has  said, 
"  I  will  never  leave  thee  nor  forsake  thee,"  every 
heart  that  knows  Him  cannot  but  boldly  say,  "  I 
will  not  fear  what  man  can  do  unto  me." 

Every  fear,  every  perplexity,  every  anxiety,  find 
an  all-satisfying  answer  in  God — He  Himself,  what 
He  is  in  nature  and  character.  His  ways,  or  His 
plans,  or  even  His  promises,  we  may  misinterpret 
or  misunderstand,  but  goodness  of  character  we 
cannot  mistake,  and  it  is  the  character  of  God 
that  is  our  resting-place.  He  can  only  act  accord- 
ing to  His  character,  and  therefore  what  is  His 
character  is  the  one  vital  thing  we  need  to  know. 
If  He  is  good,  and  unselfish,  and  loving,  and  wise, 
and  just,  and,  with  all  this,  omnipotent  and  om- 
nipresent as  well,  then  all  must  be  ordered  right 
for  us.  It  cannot  be  otherwise.  The  seen  thing 
may  seem  to  be  all  wrong,  but  we  know  that  the 
seen  thing  is  very  often  not  at  all  the  true  thing. 
What  we  are  able  to  see  is  generally  only  a  partial 
view,  and  no  partial  view  can  be  depended  on. 
I  may  look  at  a  partial  view  of  a  winding  river, 
and  declare  it  to  be  a  lake,  because  no  outlet  can 


Holiness  Camp  Meetings  295 


be  seen.  To  witness  the  outward  seeming  of  a 
parent's  dealing  with  a  child  during  the  hour  of 
lessons,  or  during  the  administration  of  medicine, 
or  during  the  necessary  discipline  and  training  of 
a  child's  life,  and  to  see  no  further  than  the  out- 
side, would  give  a  very  untrue  idea  of  a  parent's 
love.  One  must  have,  what  George  Macdonald 
calls,  "  eyes  that  can  see  below  surfaces,"  if  one 
is  to  do  justice  either  to  a  good  parent  or  to  a 
good  God.  But  when  His  utter  unselfishness 
has  been  discovered,  this  interior  eye  is  opened, 
and  all  difficulties  as  to  the  apparent  mysteries  of 
His  dealings  are  answered  forever. 

I  can  understand  the  joy  with  which  the  Psalm- 
ist reiterated  over  and  over  the  goodness  of  the 
God  of  Israel.  "Oh,  give  thanks  unto  the  Lord, 
for  He  is  good;  "  "  Oh,  trust  in  the  Lord,  for  He 
is  good ; "  "Oh  that  men  would  praise  the  Lord  for 
His  goodness;"  "The  earth  is  full  of  the  good- 
ness of  the  Lord;"  "Come,  taste  and  see  that 
the  Lord  is  good."  Living  all  around  Israel  were 
nations  whose  gods  were  not  good, — cruel  gods, 
unjust  gods,  and,  above  all,  selfish  gods,  who 
cared  only  for  themselves  and  for  their  own 
glory,  and  who  were  sublimely  indifferent  to  the 
welfare  of  their  worshippers;  and  for  the  Israel- 
ites not  to  be  afraid  to  contrast  with  these  bad 
gods  their  own  unselfish,  and  just  God,  and  to  be 
able  to  declare,  without  fear  of  contradiction, 
that  He  was  a  good  God,  must  have  given  them 
triumphant  delight.  And  1  feel  that  it  is  no  less 
of  a  triumph  now,  in  the  midst  of  a  world  that 


296       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


misunderstands  and  maligns  Him,  to  be  able,  with 
absolute  conviction  and  assurance  to  challenge 
every  human  being  the  world  over  to  "Come, 
taste  and  see  that  the  Lord  is  good! " 


XXXI 


THE  LOVELY  WILL  OF  GOD 

WITH  my  eyes  thus  opened  to  see  the 
absolute  goodness  and  unselfishness  of 
God,  I  experienced  a  complete  change 
of  mind  in  regard  to  His  will,  in  the  past  I  had 
looked  upon  God's  will  as  being  against  me,  now 
1  had  found  out  that  it  was  for  me.  I  had  thought 
it  was  something  to  be  afraid  of,  now  1  saw  it 
was  something  to  be  embraced  with  joy.  For- 
merly it  had  seemed  to  me  that  His  will  was  the 
terrible  instrument  of  His  severity,  and  that  1 
must  do  all  1  could  to  avert  its  terrors  from 
swooping  down  upon  my  devoted  head.  Now  I 
saw  that  it  was  the  instrument  of  His  love,  and 
could  only  bring  upon  me  all  that  was  kindest 
and  best.  I  realized  that  of  course  it  was  impos- 
sible for  the  will  of  unselfish  love  to  be  anything 
but  good  and  kind;  and  that,  since  He  has  all 
knowledge  and  all  wisdom  as  well,  it  must,  in 
the  very  nature  of  things,  be  the  best  thing  the 
universe  could  contain;  and  that  no  greater  bliss 
could  come  to  any  of  us,  than  to  have  that  lovely 
unselfish  will  perfectly  done  in  us  and  for  us. 

To  hide  oneself  in  God's  will  seemed  to  me 
sometimes  like  hiding  in  an  impregnable  fortress 
of  love  and  care,  where  no  harm  could  reach  me; 
297 


2g8       The  Unselfishness  of  God 

and  sometimes  it  seemed  like  a  bed  of  softest 
down,  upon  whicii  I  could  lie  down  in  a  delicious 
and  undisturbed  rest.  1  never  can  put  into  words 
all  that  1  began  to  see  of  the  loveliness,  the  ten- 
derness, the  unselfishness,  the  infinite  goodness 
of  the  will  of  God!  I  fairly  revelled  in  its  sweet- 
ness. 

It  was  not  that  life  was  to  have  no  more  trials, 
for  this  wise  and  loving  will  might  see  that  trials 
were  a  necessary  gift  of  love.  Neither  was  it 
essential  that  we  should  be  able  to  see  the 
Divine  hand  in  every  trial,  since  my  common 
sense  told  me  that  He  must  still  be  there,  for  a 
God  who  is  omnipresent  could  not  help  being 
present  somewhere,  even  in  a  trial,  and,  being  in 
it.  He  would  of  course  be  there  to  help  and 
bless. 

We  are  not  wise  enough  to  judge  as  to  things, 
whether  they  are  really  in  their  essence  joys  or 
sorrows,  but  the  Lord  knows;  and,  because  He 
loves  us  with  an  unselfish  and  limitless  love,  He 
cannot  fail  to  make  the  apparently  hard,  or  cruel, 
or  even  wicked  thing,  work  together  for  our  best 
good.  I  say  "cannot  fail"  simply  because  it  is 
an  unthinkable  thing  to  suppose  that  such  a  God 
as  ours  could  do  otherwise. 

It  is  no  matter  who  starts  our  trial,  whether 
man,  or  devil,  or  even  our  own  foolish  selves,  if 
God  permits  it  to  reach  us,  He  has  by  this  per- 
mission made  the  trial  His  own,  and  will  turn  it 
for  us  into  a  chariot  of  love  which  will  carry  our 
souls  to  a  place  of  blessing  that  we  could  not 


The  Lovely  Will  of  God  299 

have  reached  in  any  other  way.  I  saw  that  to 
the  Christian  who  hides  in  the  fortress  of  God's 
will,  there  can  be  no  "second  causes,"  for  noth- 
ing can  penetrate  into  that  fortress  unless  the 
Divine  Keeper  of  the  fortress  shall  give  it  permis- 
sion; and  this  permission,  when  given,  means 
that  He  adopts  it  as  being  for  our  best  good. 
Joseph  was  sold  into  Egypt  by  the  wickedness 
of  his  brethren,  but  God  made  their  wickedness 
the  chariot  that  carried  Joseph  to  his  place  of 
triumph  over  the  Egyptians. 

We  may  be  certain  therefore,  more  certain  than 
we  are  that  the  sun  will  rise  to-morrow,  that 
God's  will  is  the  most  lovely  thing  the  universe 
contains  for  us;  and  this,  not  because  it  always 
looks  or  seems  the  best,  but  because  it  cannot 
help  being  the  best,  since  it  is  the  will  of  infinite 
unselfishness  and  of  infinite  love. 

I  began  to  sing  in  my  heart  continually  Faber's 
lovely  hymn: — 

"  I  worship  Thee,  sweet  Will  of  God, 
And  all  Thy  ways  adore  ; 
And  every  day  I  live  it  seems 
I  love  Thee  more  and  more." 

One  verse  in  this  hymn  especially  delighted  me, 
because  1  so  often  found  it  practically  true. 

I  know  not  what  it  is  to  doubt, 

My  heart  is  always  gay; 
I  run  no  risks,  for,  come  what  will. 

Thou  always  hast  Thy  way."j 


300       The  Unselfishness  of  God 

The  first  time  I  realized  it  was  as  follows.  It 
was  three  days  after  the  birth  of  a  darling  little 
girl  baby,  for  whom  1  had  longed  unspeakably, 
and  who  seemed  to  me  the  most  ineffable  treas- 
ure ever  committed  to  mortal  care.  My  nurse 
had  been  suddenly  taken  ill,  and  was  obliged  to 
leave,  and  we  had  been  forced  to  get  in  a  strange 
nurse  whom  1  did  not  know,  and  whose  looks  1 
did  not  like.  It  was  in  the  days  when  trained 
nurses  were  far  less  common  than  now,  and  I 
felt  sure  this  one  was  unusually  ignorant.  I  could 
hardly  endure  to  have  her  touch  my  precious 
treasure,  and  yet  I  was  not  allowed  to  care  for 
my  darling  myself. 

It  was  winter  time,  and  there  was  a  blazing 
wood  fire  on  the  hearth  in  my  sick  room.  On 
the  first  evening  of  her  arrival,  the  nurse,  after 
settling  me  in  for  the  night,  sat  down  close 
to  the  fire  taking  my  darling  baby  on  her  knees. 
Pretty  soon  she  fell  sound  asleep,  and  I  was 
awakened  by  her  snores  to  see  my  darling  lying 
perilously  near  the  fire  on  her  slanting  lap, 
while  her  head  nodded  over  it  in  what  seemed  to 
me  like  a  drunken  slumber.  I  tried  in  vain  to 
awaken  her,  but  my  voice  was  feeble,  and  made 
no  impression,  and  1  expected  every  minute 
to  see  my  darling  baby  roll  off  her  lap  into 
the  fire.  I  could  make  no  one  hear,  and  I  knew 
to  get  out  of  bed  and  go  across  the  cold  floor 
might  seriously  injure  me.  But  my  anxiety  was 
so  overpowering  that  1  sat  up  in  bed  and  was 
just  trying  to  rise,  when  these  words  flashed 


The  Lovely  Will  of  God  301 


into  my  mind — "I  run  no  rislcs,  for  come  what 
will  Thou  always  hast  Thy  way."  And  with  it 
came  a  conviction  that  my  baby  could  not 
run  any  risks  for  she  was  safe  in  God's  care. 
With  a  sense  of  infinite  peace  my  head  fell  back 
on  my  pillow,  and  my  soul  sank  back  on  the 
sweet  and  lovely  will  of  God.  I  saw  that 
my  darling  was  cradled  in  the  arms  of  Almighty 
love,  and  I  went  to  sleep  without  a  care,  and 
waked  up  to  find  her  being  comfortably  tucked 
in  beside  me  for  her  needed  meal. 

It  was  lovely  beyond  words  to  have  had  such 
a  practical  insight  into  the  beauty  and  the  bless- 
edness of  the  Will  of  God! 

I  have  had  many  such  insights  since,  and  1 
have  learned  to  know  beyond  the  shadow  of 
doubt,  that  the  will  of  God  is  the  most  delicious 
and  delightful  thing  in  the  universe.  And  this, 
not  because  things  always  go  as  1  want  them  to 
go,  neither  because  of  any  extra  piety  on  my 
part,  but  simply  because  my  common  sense  tells 
me  that  the  will  of  unselfish  love  could  not 
be  anything  else  but  delightful.  The  reason 
heaven  is  heaven  is  because  God's  will  is  per- 
fectly done  there,  and  earth  would  necessarily  be 
like  heaven,  if  only  His  will  could  be  perfectly 
done  here. 

I  had  been  used  to  hear  Christians  talk  about 
consecration  to  the  will  of  God  as  being  such  a 
high  religious  attainment  that  only  a  few  extra 
devout  souls  could  hope  to  reach  it.  But  with 
my  discovery  of  the  infinite  unselfishness  of 


302       The  Unselfishness  of  God 

God,  I  came  to  realize  that  consecration  to  Him 
was  not  an  attainment  but  a  priceless  privilege; 
and  I  cannot  but  feel  sure  that  if  people  only 
knew  the  loveliness  of  His  will,  not  a  devout  few 
only,  but  every  single  soul  in  the  universe  would 
rush  eagerly  to  choose  it  for  every  moment 
of  their  lives. 

This  seems  to  me  to  be  not  an  extra  degree  of 
piety,  but  only  an  extra  degree  of  good  common 
sense.  If  1  were  lost  in  a  trackless  wilderness 
and  could  see  no  way  out,  and  a  skillful  guide 
should  offer  to  lead  me  into  safety,  would  I  con- 
sider it  a  hard  thing  to  surrender  myself  into  his 
hands,  and  to  say  "thy  will  be  done"  to  his 
guidance  ?  And  can  it  be  a  hard  thing  to  surren- 
der myself  to  my  Heavenly  Guide,  and  to  say 
"Thy  will  be  done"  to  His  guidance?  No,  a 
thousand  times  no!  Consecration,  or  as  I  prefer 
to  call  it,  surrender  to  God,  is  the  greatest  privi- 
lege offered  to  any  soul  in  this  life,  and  to  say 
"  Thy  will  be  done  "  is  one  of  the  most  delightful 
things  human  lips  are  allowed  to  utter. 

An  old  writer  has  said  that  God's  will  is  not  a 
load  to  carry,  as  so  many  think,  but  is  a  pillow 
to  rest  on,  and  I  found  this  to  be  true.  My  soul 
sank  back  upon  it  with  a  sweetness  of  contented 
rest  that  no  words  can  describe.  At  other  times, 
to  say  the  words  "Thy  will  be  done"  seemed  to 
me  like  a  magnificent  shout  of  victory,  a  sort  of 
triumphant  banner,  flung  forth  in  the  face  of  the 
whole  universe,  challenging  it  to  combat.  So 
vividly  did  1  realize  this,  that  it  drew  from  me 


The  Lovely  Will  of  God  303 


the  only  verse  of  poetry  1  was  ever  able  to  write, 
which,  however  poor  as  poetry,  was  the  heart- 
felt expression  of  a  very  real  and  inspiring  fact. 

"  Thy  wonderful,  grand  Will,  my  God, 
With  triumph  now  I  make  it  mine, 
And  Love  shall  cry  a  joyous  Yes, 
To  every  dear  command  of  thine." 

But  time  would  fail  me  to  tell  of  all  that 
my  soul  discovered  when  I  discovered  the  good- 
ness and  unselfishness  of  God.  To  say  that  He 
is  enough  is  to  give  an  absolute  and  incontro- 
vertible answer  to  every  doubt  and  every  ques- 
tion that  has  arisen  or  can  arise.  It  may  not 
seem  to  our  consciousness  that  any  prayers  are 
answered,  or  any  promises  fulfilled,  but  what 
of  that?  Behind  every  prayer  and  behind  every 
promise,  there  is  God, — the  bare  God,  if  I  may  so 
express  it;  and,  if  He  exists  at  all,  we  know  He 
must  be  enough. 

How  often  1  had  repeated  the  lines: — 

"  Thou,  oh  Christ,  art  all  I  want, 
More  than  all  in  Thee  I  find." 

But  never  until  now  had  I  known  what  they 
meant.  They  had  seemed  to  express  a  beautiful 
sentiment,  but  now  I  saw  that  they  simply  stated 
a  fact.  I  had  begun  to  discover  that  He  actually 
was  all  I  needed;  and  that,  even  infinitely  more 
than  all,  beyond  what  1  could  ask  or  think,  was 
stored  up  for  me  in  Him. 


304       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


In  a  sense  my  search  after  God  was  ended,  for 
I  had  discovered  that  He  was  enough! 

I  have  had  many  blessed  and  lovely  things 
to  find  out  about  Him  since,  but  I  had  then 
reached  Himself, — the  real  God,  behind  all  the 
seemings,  and  my  heart  had  entered  into  its 
rest.  1  had  discovered  that  nothing  else  really 
matters, — neither  creeds,  nor  ceremonies,  nor 
doctrines,  nor  dogmas.  God  is;  God  is  un- 
selfish; and  God  is  enough  1 


XXXII 


OLD  AGE  AND  DEATH 
ND  now  that  I  am  seventy  years  old,  and 


life  is  rapidly  passing  from  me,  if  I  should 


X  ^be  asked  how  my  discovery  of  the  un- 
selfishness of  God  affects  my  feelings  towards 
old  age  and  death,  1  can  only  say,  that,  secure  in 
the  knowledge  that  God  is,  and  that  He  is  enough, 
I  find  old  age  delightful  in  the  present,  and  death 
a  delicious  prospect  for  the  future. 

If  it  were  not  for  Him,  old  age  with  its  failing 
powers  and  its  many  infirmities  could  not  but  be 
a  sad  and  wearisome  time;  but,  with  God,  our 
lovely  unselfish  God,  at  the  back  of  it,  old  age  is 
simply  a  delightful  resting-place.  To  be  seventy 
gives  one  permission  to  stand  aloof  from  the 
stress  of  life,  and  to  lay  down  all  burden  of  re- 
sponsibility for  carrying  on  the  work  of  the 
world;  and  1  rejoice  in  my  immunity. 

I  have  tried  in  my  day  to  help  bear  the  burdens 
of  my  own  generation,  and,  now  that  that  gen- 
eration has  almost  passed  away,  I  am  more  than 
happy  to  know  that  the  responsibilities  of  the 
present  generation  do  not  rest  upon  me,  but 
upon  the  shoulders  of  the  younger  and  stronger 
spirits,  who  are  called  in  the  providence  of  God 


305 


The  Unselfishness  of  God 


to  bear  them.  I  laugh  to  myself  with  pleasure 
at  the  thought,  and  quite  enjoy  the  infirmities  of 
age  as  they  come  upon  me,  and  find  it  delight- 
ful to  be  laid  aside  from  one  thing  after  another, 
and  to  be  at  liberty  to  look  on  in  a  peaceful 
leisure  at  the  younger  wrestlers  in  the  world's 
arena.  I  cannot  say  that  their  wrestling  is  al- 
ways done  in  the  way  that  seems  best  to  my  old 
eyes,  but  I  admire  the  Divine  order  that  evi- 
dently lays  upon  each  generation  its  own  work, 
to  be  done  in  its  own  way;  and  I  am  convinced 
that,  whether  it  may  seem  to  us  for  good  or  for 
ill,  the  generation  that  is  passing  must  give  place 
to  the  one  that  is  coming,  and  must  keep  hands 
off  from  interfering.  Advice  we  who  are  older 
may  give,  and  the  fruits  of  our  experience,  but 
we  must  be  perfectly  content  to  have  our  advice 
rejected  by  the  younger  generation,  and  our  ex- 
perience ignored.  Were  we  willing  for  this,  I 
am  convinced  the  young  would  much  more  often 
be  glad  to  profit  by  what  is  called  the  "  wisdom 
of  the  old";  but,  as  it  is,  they  are  afraid  to  ask 
advice  because  they  know  they  will  be  expected 
to  follow  it,  whether  it  commends  itself  to  them 
or  not,  and  because  they  fear  the  old  will  feel 
hurt  if  they  do  not.  Perfect  freedom  in  asking 
advice  can  only  exist  along  with  perfect  freedom 
not  to  follow  that  advice. 

I  am  not  of  course  referring  to  children,  but  to 
the  adults  of  two  generations,  and  I  believe,  as  a 
general  thing,  the  older  generation,  when  it  in- 
sists on  its  advice  being  taken,  puts  itself  into  the 


Old  Age  and  Death  307 


unenviable  position  of  being  very  much  in  the 
way  of  the  world's  progress.  It  is  found  neces- 
sary in  all  lines  of  business  nowadays  to  employ 
younger  and  younger  workers,  because  the  older 
workers  are  inclined  to  get  into  ruts,  and  are  un- 
willing to  be  urged  out  of  them.  In  this  con- 
nection it  is  very  striking  to  notice  in  the  history 
of  the  Israelites  how  at  the  age  of  fifty  they 
were,  by  the  Divine  order,  retired  from  public 
service,  whether  in  the  Tabernacle  or  in  the 
Army.  "And  from  the  age  of  fifty  years  they 
shall  cease  waiting  upon  the  service  thereof,  and 
shall  serve  no  more."  It  is  manifest  therefore 
that,  if  they  were  retired  at  fifty,  one  who  is 
seventy,  is  at  perfect  liberty  to  stand  aside  from 
the  world's  work,  and  to  enjoy  that  delicious 
sense  of  release  from  responsibility  which  is  the 
happy  privilege  of  old  age. 

We  read  a  great  deal  about  the  old  educating 
the  young.  We  need  just  as  much  that  the 
young  should  educate  the  old.  I  hear  that  there 
is  a  University  in  Brussels  that  carries  out  this 
idea.  It  is  called  the  New  University,  and  it  is 
indeed  new,  for  not  only  do  the  Professors  hold 
classes  for  the  pupils,  but  the  pupils  hold  classes 
for  the  Professors;  and  I  venture  to  predict  that 
that  University  will  produce  results  far  beyond 
those  of  any  other.  It  is  not  that  I  think  the 
wisdom  is  all  shut  up  in  the  young,  but  I  am 
convinced  that  it  is  the  divine  plan  that  each 
generation  shall  have  the  guidance  of  its  own 
era,  and  shall  do  its  work  in  its  own  way.  And 


308       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


any  effort  to  upset  this  Divine  order,  efforts 
which  I  am  sorry  to  say  we  old  people  are  con- 
stantly being  tempted  to  make,  are  sure  to  pro- 
duce friction  and  to  hinder  progress. 

People  talk  a  great  deal  about  the  duties  the 
young  owe  to  the  old,  but  I  think  it  is  far  more 
important  to  consider  the  duties  the  old  owe  to 
the  young.  I  do  not  of  course  say  that  the 
young  owe  us  old  people  no  duties,  but  at  the 
age  of  seventy  1  have  learned  to  see  that  the 
weight  of  preponderance  is  enormously  on  the 
other  side,  and  that  each  generation  owes  to  the 
succeeding  one  far  more  duty  than  the  suc- 
ceeding one  owes  to  them.  We  brought  the 
younger  generation  into  the  world,  without  con- 
sulting them,  and  we  are  bound  therefore  to 
sacrifice  ourselves  for  their  good.  This  is  what 
the  God  who  created  us  has  done  in  the  sacrifice 
of  Christ,  and  I  do  not  see  that  He  could  have 
done  less.  He  has  poured  Himself  out  without 
stint  for  His  children,  and  we  must  do  the  same 
for  ours. 

Having  discovered  the  unselfishness  of  God,  as 
every  one  who  has  lived  to  be  seventy  ought  to 
have  done,  our  attitude  towards  all  around  us, 
should  be,  up  to  our  measure,  one  of  a  similar 
unselfishness.  And  surely  this  is  what  our  Lord 
wants  to  teach  us  when  He  urges  us  to  love  our 
enemies,  and  to  bless  them  that  curse  us,  and  do 
good  to  them  that  hate  us;  in  order.  He  says,  that 
we  may  be  the  children  of  our  Father  which  is  in 
Heaven,  who  Himself  does  these  things.  And 


Old  Age  and  Death  309 


He  ends  His  words  with  the  exhortation,  "  Be 
ye  therefore  perfect,  even  as  your  Father  which 
is  in  Heaven  is  perfect."  Our  perfection  there- 
fore is  to  be  the  perfection  of  unselfish  love;  and, 
the  older  we  are,  the  more  fully  we  ought  to 
know  this  and  act  on  it. 

Everything  is  safe  when  an  unselfish  love  is 
guiding  and  controlling,  and  therefore  my  old 
heart  is  at  rest,  and  I  can  lay  down  my  arms  with 
a  happy  confidence  that,  since  God  is  in  His 
Heaven,  all  must  necessarily  be  right  with  His 
world,  let  the  "seemings"  be  what  they  may. 
And  I  can  peacefully  wait  to  understand  what 
seems  mysterious  now,  until  the  glorious  day 
of  revelations,  to  which  every  hour  brings  me 
nearer. 

It  is  to  me  a  most  comforting  discovery,  to  have 
found  out  that  God  can  manage  His  own  uni- 
verse Himself,  and  that  He  can  do  it  even  without 
my  help.  1  never  look  at  the  sun,  or  the  moon, 
or  the  stars,  without  a  satisfying  recognition  of 
the  fact  that  they  are  all  the  "  work  of  His  fin- 
gers," and  that  the  management  of  them  is  His 
business  and  not  mine,  and  that  therefore  I  can 
afford  to  die  and  leave  them,  and  all  things  else, 
to  His  care,  without  a  fear  that  the  universe  will 
be  dislocated  by  my  going.  God  is  the  House- 
keeper of  His  own  creation,  and  just  as  I  should 
think  it  folly  to  worry  myself  over  the  house- 
keeping of  my  neighbours  in  Grosvenor  Road,  so 
does  it  seem  to  me  even  a  greater  folly  to  worry 
myself  over  the  housekeeping  of  God.  Therefore 


310       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


with  an  easy  mind  I  can  look  forward  to  death, 
and  the  prospect  of  leaving  this  life  and  of  enter- 
ing into  the  larger  and  grander  life  beyond,  is 
pure  bliss  to  me.  It  is  like  having  a  new  country, 
full  of  unknown  marvels,  to  explore;  and  the 
knowledge  that  no  one  and  nothing  can  hinder 
my  going  there,  is  a  secret  spring  of  joy  in  the 
bottom  of  my  heart  continually.  Often  and 
often,  when  some  pleasant  earthly  plan  is  spoiled, 
1  say  to  myself  triumphantly,  "  Ah  well,  there  is 
one  thing  about  which  I  can  never  be  disap- 
pointed, and  that  is  dying.  No  one,  not  even  an 
enemy,  can  deprive  me  of  that!"  Whenever  I 
see  a  funeral  1  laugh  inwardly  at  the  fresh  realiza- 
tion of  the  fact  that  such  a  happy  fate  lies  before 
every  one  of  us;  and  I  hardly  dare  trust  myself 
to  try  writing  letters  of  condolence  about  the 
death  of  any  one,  for  they  are  almost  sure  to 
turn  into  letters  of  congratulation  at  the  happy 
escape  of  another  prisoner  from  this  earthly 
prison  house. 

In  the  different  associations  to  which  1  belong 
my  comrades  never  dare  ask  me  to  conduct  a 
memorial  service  for  our  departed  members,  for 
fear  I  shall  be  tempted  to  give  thanks  for  their 
release.  Even  for  the  going  home  of  those  I 
love,  I  can  always  rejoice,  for  it  seems  to  me 
nothing  but  selfishness  to  let  my  loss  outweigh 
their  glorious  gain. 

I  love  Walt  Whitman's  matchless  death  song, 
and  always  want  to  send  it  to  every  dying 
friend: — 


Old  Age  and  Death 


"  Joy,  shipmate,  joy. 
(Pleased  to  the  soul  at  death,  I  cry.) 
Our  life  is  closed,  our  life  begins; 
The  long,  long  anchorage  we  leave, 
The  ship  is  clear  at  last,  she  leaps, 
She  swiftly  courses  from  the  shore ! 
Joy,  shipmate,  joy  !  " 

This  passing  life  with  all  its  affairs,  once  ap- 
parently so  important,  fades  into  insignificance 
in  face  of  the  surpassing  life  beyond,  and  I  am 
glad  to  be  so  nearly  through  with  it.  Its  interest 
has  gone  for  me;  and  I,  who  used  to  be  so  eager 
to  see  every  new  place,  and  to  taste  every  new 
experience,  care  for  them  no  longer.  I  have  a 
most  satisfactory  feeling  of  being  done  with  this 
earth.  All  places  look  alike  to  me,  and  all  ex- 
periences seem  tame  in  comparison  with  that 
which  awaits  me  on  the  other  side. 

As  to  what  that  is,  I  can  only  have  vague  ideas. 
!  am  like  the  butterfly,  just  preparing  to  slip  out 
of  its  old  cocoon,  panting  for  the  life  outside,  but 
with  no  experience  to  tell  it  what  sort  of  a  life 
that  outside  life  will  be.  Only  1  believe  with  all 
my  heart  that  the  Apostle  told  the  truth  when  he 
declared  that,  "  Eye  hath  not  seen,  nor  ear  heard, 
neither  have  entered  into  the  heart  of  man  the 
things  which  God  hath  prepared  for  them  that 
love  Him."  And  what  more  delicious  prospect 
could  the  soul  have!  I  remember  vividly  my 
perfect  delight  many  years  ago  in  the  prospect  of 
exploring  the  unknown  beauties  of  the  Yellow- 
stone Park,  and  of  the  Hoodoo  Mountains  in 


312       The  Unselfishness  of  God 


Wyoming  Territory,  a  delight  caused  largely  by 
the  fact  that  they  were  unknown,  and  that  there- 
fore anything  and  everything  seemed  possible. 
But  that  delight  was  as  nothing  compared  to  my 
delight  now,  in  looking  forward  to  the  things 
which  have  not  even  entered  my  mind  to  con- 
ceive. 

The  one  thing  I  do  know  about  it  is,  that  then 
will  be  fulfilled  the  prayer  of  our  Lord,  "Father, 
I  will  that  they  also,  whom  Thou  hast  given  me, 
be  with  me  where  I  am;  that  they  may  behold 
my  glory  which  Thou  hast  given  me."  That 
glory  is  not  the  glory  of  dazzling  light  and  golden 
brightness,  as  some  might  picture  it,  but  it  is  the 
glory  of  unselfish  love,  than  which  there  can  be 
no  greater.  I  have  had  a  few  faint  glimpses  of 
this  glory  now  and  here,  and  it  has  been  enough 
to  ravish  my  heart.  But  there  1  shall  see  Him  as 
He  is,  in  all  the  glory  of  an  infinite  unselfishness 
which  no  heart  of  man  has  ever  been  able  to 
conceive;  and  1  await  the  moment  with  joy. 


Pfintrton  Thpoloqic.il  Seminrtrif-Sp«f  Libf. 


1  1012  01082  2635 


DATE  DUE 


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